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TOTLE'S  BELLOW 

LADY  GREGORY 

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*  \ 

Seven  Short  Plays 


By 

Lady  Gregory 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  and  London 

3be    fcnfcfccrbocfccr     press 


COPYRIGHT,  1903.  BY  LADY  AUGUSTA  GREGORY 

COPYRIGHT,  1904.  BY  LADY  GREGORY 

COPYRIGHT,  1905,  BY  LADY  GREGORY 

COPYRIGHT.  1906,  BY  LADY  GREGORY 

COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY  LADY  GREGORY 

These  plays  have  been  copyrighted  and  published  simul- 
taneously in  the  United  States  and  Great  Britain. 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign 
languages. 

All  acting  rights,  both  professional  and  amateur,  are  reserved 
in  the  United  States,  Great  Britain,  and  all  countries  of  the 
Copyright  Union,  by  the  author.  Performances  forbidden  and 
right  of  presentation  reserved. 

Application  for  the  right  of  performing  these  plays  or  reading 
them  in  public  should  be  made  to  Samuel  French,  28  West 
38th  St.,  New  York  City,  or  26  South  Hampton  St.,  Strand, 
London. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


DEDICATION 

To  you,  W.  B.  YEATS,  good  praiser,  wholesome 
dispraiser,  heavy-handed  judge,  open-handed  helper 
of  us  all,  I  offer  a  play  of  my  plays  for  every  night 
of  the  week,  because  you  like  them,  and  because  you 
have  taught  me  my  trade. 

AUGUSTA   GREGORY 

Abbey  Theatre, 

May  I,  1909. 


2060926 


CONTENTS 

SPREADING  THE  NEWS 

HYACINTH  HALVEY 

THE  RISING  OF  THE  MOON  . 

THE  JACKDAW      .... 

THE  WORKHOUSE  WARD 

THE  TRAVELLING  MAN 

THE  GAOL  GATE 

MUSIC  FOR  THE  SONGS  IN  THE  PLAYS 

NOTES,  &c.          .... 


SPREADING  THE  NEWS 


PERSONS 
Hartley  Fallon. 
Mrs.  Fallon. 
Jack  Smith. 
Shawn  Early. 
Tim  Casey. 
James  Ryan. 
Mrs.  Tarpey. 
Mrs.  Tully. 

A  Policeman  (Jo  MULDOON). 
A  Removabk  Magistrate. 


SPREADING  THE  NEWS 

Scene:  The  outskirts  of  a  Fair.  An  Apple  Stall. 
Mrs.  Tarpey  sitting  at  it.  Magistrate  and 
Policeman  enter. 

Magistrate:  So  that  is  the  Fair  Green.  Cattle 
and  sheep  and  mud.  No  system.  What  a  re- 
pulsive sight ! 

Policeman:    That  is  so,  indeed. 

Magistrate:  I  suppose  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
disorder  in  this  place? 

Policeman:    There  is. 

Magistrate:    Common  assault? 

Policeman:    It's  common  enough. 

Magistrate:    Agrarian  crime,  no  doubt? 

Policeman:    That  is  so. 

Magistrate:  Boycotting?  Maiming  of  cattle? 
Firing  into  houses? 

Policeman:  There  was  one  time,  and  there 
might  be  again. 

Magistrate:  That  is  bad.  Does  it  go  any  far- 
ther than  that? 

Policeman:    Far  enough,  indeed. 
3 


4  Spreading  the  News 

Magistrate:  Homicide,  then !  This  district  has 
been  shamefully  neglected !  I  will  change  all  that. 
When  I  was  in  the  Andaman  Islands,  my  system 
never  failed.  Yes,  yes,  I  will  change  all  that. 
What  has  that  woman  on  her  stall? 

Policeman:    Apples  mostly — and  sweets. 

Magistrate:  Just  see  if  there  are  any  unlicensed 
goods  underneath — spirits  or  the  like.  We  had 
evasions  of  the  salt  tax  in  the  Andaman  Islands. 

Policeman:  (Sniffing  cautiously  and  upsetting 
a  heap  of  apples.}  I  see  no  spirits  here — or 
salt. 

Magistrate:  (To  Mrs.  Tarpey.}  Do  you  know 
this  town  well,  my  good  woman? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  (Holding  out  some  apples.)  A 
penny  the  half-dozen,  your  honour. 

Policeman:  (Shouting.)  The  gentleman  is  ask- 
ing do  you  know  the  town!  He's  the  new  magis- 
trate! 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  (Rising  and  ducking.)  Do  I  know 
the  town?  I  do,  to  be  sure. 

Magistrate:  (Shouting.)  What  is  its  chief  busi- 
ness? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Business,  is  it?  What  business 
would  the  people  here  have  but  to  be  minding 
one  another's  business? 

Magistrate:     I  mean  what  trade  have  they? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Not  a  trade.  No  trade  at  all 
but  to  be  talking. 


Spreading  the  News  5 

Magistrate:    I  shall  learn  nothing  here. 

(James  Ryan  comes  in,  pipe  in  mouth.  See- 
ing Magistrate  he  retreats  quickly,  taking 
pipe  from  mouth.} 

Magistrate:  The  smoke  from  that  man's  pipe 
had  a  greenish  look ;  he  may  be  growing  unlicensed 
tobacco  at  home.  I  wish  I  had  brought  my  tele- 
scope to  this  district.  Come  to  the  post-office,  I 
will  telegraph  for  it.  I  found  it  very  useful  in  the 
Andaman  Islands. 

(Magistrate  and  Policeman  go  out  left.} 
Mrs.  Tarpey:     Bad  luck  to  Jo  Muldoon,  knock- 
ing my  apples  this  way  and  that  way.     (Begins 
arranging  them.}     Showing  off  he  was  to  the  new 
magistrate. 

(Enter  Bartley  Fallon  and  Mrs.  Fallon.} 
Bartley:     Indeed   it's   a  poor  country   and   a 
scarce  country  to  be  living  in.     But  I'm  thinking 
if  I  went  to  America  it's  long  ago  the  day  I'd  be 
dead! 

Mrs.  Fallon:    So  you  might,  indeed. 

(She  puts  her  basket  on  a  barrel  and  begins 
putting  parcels  in  it,  taking  them  from 
under  her  cloak.} 

Bartley:  And  it's  a  great  expense  for  a  poor 
man  to  be  buried  in  America. 

Mrs.  Fallon:     Never  fear,  Bartley  Fallon,  but 
I'll  give  you  a  good  burying  the  day  you'll  die. 
Bartley:     Maybe  it's  yourself  will  be  buried  in 


6  Spreading  the  News 

the  graveyard  of  Cloonmara  before  me,  Mary 
Fallen,  and  I  myself  that  will  be  dying  unbe- 
knownst some  night,  and  no  one  a-near  me. 
And  the  cat  itself  may  be  gone  straying  through 
the  country,  and  the  mice  squealing  over  the  quilt. 

Mrs.  Fatton:  Leave  off  talking  of  dying.  It 
might  be  twenty  years  you'll  be  living  yet. 

Bartley:  (With  a  deep  sigh.}  I'm  thinking  if  I'll 
be  living  at  the  end  of  twenty  years,  it's  a  very 
old  man  I'll  be  then! 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  (Turns  and  sees  them.}  Good  mor- 
row, Bartley  Fallon;  good  morrow,  Mrs.  Fallen. 
Well,  Bartley,  you'll  find  no  cause  for  complaining 
to-day ;  they  are  all  saying  it  was  a  good  fair. 

Bartley:  (Raising  his  voice.}  It  was  not  a  good 
fair,  Mrs.  Tarpey.  It  was  a  scattered  sort  of  a 
fair.  If  we  didn't  expect  more,  we  got  less. 
That's  the  way  with  me  always ;  whatever  I  have 
to  sell  goes  down  and  whatever  I  have  to  buy  goes 
up.  If  there's  ever  any  misfortune  coming  to  this 
world,  it's  on  myself  it  pitches,  like  a  flock  of 
crows  on  seed  potatoes. 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Leave  off  talking  of  misfortunes, 
and  listen  to  Jack  Smith  that  is  coming  the  way, 
and  he  singing. 

(Voice  of  Jack  Smith  heard  singing:} 
I  thought,  my  first  love, 

There'd  be  but  one  house  between  you  and  me, 
And  I  thought  I  would  find 


Spreading  the  News  7 

Yourself  coaxing  my  child  on  your  knee. 
Over  the  tide 

I  would  leap  with  the  leap  of  a  swan, 
Till  I  came  to  the  side 

Of  the  wife  of  the  Red-haired  man! 

(Jack  Smith  comes  in;  he  is  a  red-haired  man, 
and  is  carrying  a  hayfork.} 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  That  should  be  a  good  song  if 
I  had  my  hearing. 

Mrs.  Fatton:  (Shouting.}  It's  "The  Red-haired 
Man's  Wife." 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  I  know  it  well.  That's  the  song 
that  has  a  skin  on  it! 

(She  turns  her  back  to  them  and  goes  on  ar- 
ranging her  apples.} 

Mrs.  Fatton:     Where's  herself,  Jack  Smith? 

Jack  Smith:  She  was  delayed  with  her  wash- 
ing; bleaching  the  clothes  on  the  hedge  she  is, 
and  she  daren't  leave  them,  with  all  the  tinkers 
that  do  be  passing  to  the  fair.  It  isn't  to  the  fair  I 
came  myself,  but  up  to  the  Five  Acre  Meadow  I'm 
going,  where  I  have  a  contract  for  the  hay.  We'll 
get  a  share  of  it  into  tramps  to-day.  (He  lays 
down  hayfork  and  lights  his  pipe.} 

Bartley:  You  will  not  get  it  into  tramps  to-day. 
The  rain  will  be  down  on  it  by  evening,  and  on 
myself  too.  It's  seldom  I  ever  started  on  a  journey 
but  the  rain  would  come  down  on  me  before  I'd 
find  any  place  of  shelter. 


8  Spreading  the  News 

Jack  Smith:  If  it  didn't  itself,  Bartley,  it  is 
my  belief  you  would  carry  a  leaky  pail  on  your 
head  in  place  of  a  hat,  the  way  you'd  not  be 
without  some  cause  of  complaining. 

(A  toice  heard,  "Go  on,  now,  go  on  out  o' 
that.    Go  on  I  say") 

Jack  Smith:     Look  at  that  young  mare  of  Pat 
Ryan's  that  is  backing  into  Shaughnessy's  bul- 
locks  with   the   dint   of   the   crowd!     Don't   be 
daunted,  Pat,  I'll  give  you  a  hand  with  her. 
(He  goes  out,  leaving  his  hayfork.) 

Mrs.  Fallon:  It's  time  for  ourselves  to  be 
going  home.  I  have  all  I  bought  put  in  the  basket. 
Look  at  there,  Jack  Smith's  hayfork  he  left  after 
him!  He'll  be  wanting  it.  (Calls.)  Jack  Smith! 
Jack  Smith ! — He's  gone  through  the  crowd — hurry 
after  him,  Bartley,  he'll  be  wanting  it. 

Bartley:  I'll  do  that.  This  is  no  safe  place  to 
be  leaving  it.  (He  takes  up  fork  awkwardly  and 
upsets  the  basket.)  Look  at  that  now!  If  there 
is  any  basket  in  the  fair  upset,  it  must  be  our  own 
basket!  (He  goes  out  to  right.) 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Get  out  of  that !  It  is  your  own 
fault,  it  is.  Talk  of  misfortunes  and  misfortunes 
will  come.  Glory  be!  Look  at  my  new  egg-cups 
rolling  in  every  part — and  my  two  pound  of 
sugar  with  the  paper  broke 

Mrs.Tarpey:  (Turning from  stall.)  God  help  us, 
Mrs.  Fallon,  what  happened  your  basket? 


Spreading  the  News  9 

Mrs.  Fallon:  It's  himself  that  knocked  it  down, 
bad  manners  to  him.  (Putting  things  up.)  My 
grand  sugar  that's  destroyed,  and  he  11  not  drink 
his  tea  without  it.  I  had  best  go  back  to  the  shop 
for  more,  much  good  may  it  do  him! 
(Enter  Tim  Casey.) 

Tim  Casey:  Where  is  Bartley  Fallon,  Mrs. 
Fallon?  I  want  a  word  with  him  before  he'll 
leave  the  fair.  I  was  afraid  he  might  have  gone 
home  by  this,  for  he's  a  temperate  man. 

Mrs.  Fallon:  I  wish  he  did  go  home!  It'd  be 
best  for  me  if  he  went  home  straight  from  the 
fair  green,  or  if  he  never  came  with  me  at  all! 
Where  is  he,  is  it?  He's  gone  up  the  road  (jerks 
elbow)  following  Jack  Smith  with  a  hayfork. 
(She  goes  out  to  left.) 

Tim  Casey:  Following  Jack  Smith  with  a  hay- 
fork! Did  ever  any  one  hear  the  like  of  that. 
(Shouts.)  Did  you  hear  that  news,  Mrs.  Tarpey? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:    I  heard  no  news  at  all. 

Tim  Casey:  Some  dispute  I  suppose  it  was  that 
rose  between  Jack  Smith  and  Bartley  Fallon,  and 
it  seems  Jack  made  off,  and  Bartley  is  following 
him  with  a  hayfork ! 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Is  he  now?  Well,  that  was  quick 
work!  It's  not  ten  minutes  since  the  two  of  them 
were  here,  Bartley  going  home  and  Jack  going  to 
the  Five  Acre  Meadow;  and  I  had  my  apples  to 
settle  up,  that  Jo  Muldoon  of  the  police  had 


io  Spreading  the  News 

scattered,  and  when  I  looked  round  again  Jack 
Smith  was  gone,  and  Bartley  Fallon  was  gone,  and 
Mrs.  Fallen's  basket  upset,  and  all  in  it  strewed 
upon  the  ground — the  tea  here — the  two  pound 
of  sugar  there — the  egg-cups  there — Look,  now, 
what  a  great  hardship  the  deafness  puts  upon  me, 
that  I  didn't  hear  the  commincement  of  the  fight ! 
Wait  till  I  tell  James  Ryan  that  I  see  below ;  he  is 
a  neighbour  of  Hartley's,  it  would  be  a  pity  if  he 
wouldn't  hear  the  news ! 

(She   goes   out.    Enter   Shawn   Early  and 
Mrs.  Tully.} 

Tim  Casey:  Listen,  Shawn  Early!  Listen, 
Mrs.  Tully,  to  the  news !  Jack  Smith  and  Bartley 
Fallon  had  a  falling  out,  and  Jack  knocked  Mrs. 
Fallen's  basket  into  the  road,  and  Bartley  made  an 
attack  on  him  with  a  hayfork,  and  away  with  Jack, 
and  Bartley  after  him.  Look  at  the  sugar  here 
yet  on  the  road! 

Shawn  Early:  Do  you  tell  me  so?  Well,  that's 
a  queer  thing,  and  Bartley  Fallon  so  quiet  a 
man! 

Mrs.  Tully:  I  wouldn't  wonder  at  all.  I  would 
never  think  well  of  a  man  that  would  have  that 
sort  of  a  mouldering  look.  It's  likely  he  has  over- 
taken Jack  by  this. 

(Enter  James  Ryan  and  Mrs.  Tarpey.) 

James  Ryan:  That  is  great  news  Mrs.  Tarpey 
was_telling  me!  I  suppose  that's  what  brought 


Spreading  the  News  n 

the  police  and  the  magistrate  up  this  way.     I  was 
wondering  to  see  them  in  it  a  while  ago. 

Shawn  Early:  The  police  after  them?  Bartley 
Fallen  must  have  injured  Jack  so.  They  wouldn't 
meddle  in  a  fight  that  was  only  for  show! 

Mrs.  Tully:  Why  wouldn't  he  injure  him? 
There  was  many  a  man  killed  with  no  more  of  a 
weapon  than  a  hayfork. 

James  Ryan:  Wait  till  I  run  north  as  far  as 
Kelly's  bar  to  spread  the  news!  (He  goes  out.} 

Tim  Casey:  I'll  go  tell  Jack  Smith's  first 
cousin  that  is  standing  there  south  of  the  church 
after  selling  his  lambs.  (Goes  out.) 

Mrs.  Tully:  I'll  go  telling  a  few  of  the  neigh- 
bours I  see  beyond  to  the  west.  (Goes  out.) 

Shawn  Early:  I'll  give  word  of  it  beyond  at 
the  east  of  the  green. 

(Is  going  out  when  Mrs.  Tarpey  seizes  hold 
of  him.) 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Stop  a  minute,  Shawn  Early, 
and  tell  me  did  you  see  red  Jack  Smith's  wife, 
Kitty  Keary,  in  any  place? 

Shawn  Early:  I  did.  At  her  own  house  she 
was,  drying  clothes  on  the  hedge  as  I  passed. 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  What  did  you  say  she  was 
doing? 

Shawn  Early:  (Breaking  away.)  Laying  out  a 
sheet  on  the  hedge.  (He  goes) 

Mrs.  Tarpey:     Laying  out  a  sheet  for  the  dead! 


12  Spreading  the  News 

The  Lord  have  mercy  on  us!  Jack  Smith  dead, 
and  his  wife  laying  out  a  sheet  for  his  burying! 
(Calls  out.)  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  before, 
Shawn  Early?  Isn't  the  deafness  the  great  hard- 
ship? Half  the  world  might  be  dead  without  me 
knowing  of  it  or  getting  word  of  it  at  all!  (She 
sits  down  and  rocks  herself.)  O  my  poor  Jack 
Smith!  To  be  going  to  his  work  so  nice  and  so 
hearty,  and  to  be  left  stretched  on  the  ground  in 
the  full  light  of  the  day! 
(Enter  Tim  Casey.) 

Tim  Casey:  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Tarpey?  What 
happened  since? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:     O  my  poor  Jack  Smith! 

Tim  Casey:     Did  Bartley  overtake  him? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:     O  the  poor  man ! 

Tim  Casey:     Is  it  killed  he  is? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Stretched  in  the  Five  Acre 
Meadow! 

Tim  Casey:  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  us!  Is 
that  a  fact? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Without  the  rites  of  the  Church 
or  a  ha'porth! 

Tim  Casey:    Who  was  telling  you? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  And  the  wife  laying  out  a  sheet 
for  his  corpse.  (Sits  up  and  wipes  her  eyes.}  I 
suppose  they'll  wake  him  the  same  as  another? 

(Enter  Mrs.  Tully,  Shawn  Early,  and  James 
Ryan.) 


Spreading  the  News  13 

Mrs.  Tutty:  There  is  great  talk  about  this 
work  in  every  quarter  of  the  fair. 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Ochone!  cold  and  dead.  And 
myself  maybe  the  last  he  was  speaking  to! 

James  Ryan:  The  Lord  save  us  \  Is  it  dead  he  is? 

Tim  Casey:  Dead  surely,  and  the  wife  getting 
provision  for  the  wake. 

Shawn  Early:  Well,  now,  hadn't  Bartley  Fal- 
lon  great  venom  in  him? 

Mrs.  Tully:  You  may  be  sure  he  had  some 
cause.  Why  would  he  have  made  an  end  of  him 
if  he  had  not?  (To  Mrs.  Tarpey,  raising  her  voice.} 
What  was  it  rose  the  dispute  at  all,  Mrs.  Tarpey? 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Not  a  one  of  me  knows.  The 
last  I  saw  of  them,  Jack  Smith  was  standing  there, 
and  Bartley  Fallen  was  standing  there,  quiet  and 
easy,  and  he  listening  to  "The  Red-haired  Man's 
Wife." 

Mrs.  Tully:  Do  you  hear  that,  Tim  Casey? 
Do  you  hear  that,  Shawn  Early  and  James  Ryan? 
Bartley  Fallon  was  here  this  morning  listening 
to  red  Jack  Smith's  wife,  Kitty  Keary  that  was! 
Listening  to  her  and  whispering  with  her!  It  was 
she  started  the  fight  so! 

Shawn  Early:  She  must  have  followed  him 
from  her  own  house.  It  is  likely  some  person 
roused  him. 

Tim  Casey:  I  never  knew,  before,  Bartley 
Fallon  was  great  with  Jack  Smith's  wife. 


14  Spreading  the  News 

Mrs.  Tully:  How  would  you  know  it?  Sure 
it's  not  in  the  streets  they  would  be  calling  it. 
If  Mrs.  Fallen  didn't  know  of  it,  and  if  I  that 
have  the  next  house  to  them  didn't  know  of  it, 
and  if  Jack  Smith  himself  didn't  know  of  it,  it  is 
not  likely  you  would  know  of  it,  Tim  Casey. 

Shawn  Early:  Let  Bartley  Fallon  take  charge 
of  her  from  this  out  so,  and  let  him  provide  for 
her.  It  is  little  pity  she  will  get  from  any  person 
in  this  parish. 

Tim  Casey:  How  can  he  take  charge  of  her? 
Sure  he  has  a  wife  of  his  own.  Sure  you  don't 
think  he'd  turn  souper  and  marry  her  in  a  Pro- 
testant church? 

James  Ryan:  It  would  be  easy  for  him  to 
marry  her  if  he  brought  her  to  America. 

Shawn  Early:  With  or  without  Kitty  Keary, 
believe  me  it  is  for  America  he's  making  at  this 
minute.  I  saw  the  new  magistrate  and  Jo  Mul- 
doon  of  the  police  going  into  the  post-office  as  I 
came  up — there  was  hurry  on  them — you  may 
be  sure  it  was  to  telegraph  they  went,  the  way  he'll 
be  stopped  in  the  docks  at  Queenstown ! 

Mrs.  Tully:  It's  likely  Kitty  Keary  is  gone  with 
him,  and  not  minding  a  sheet  or  a  wake  at  all.  The 
poor  man,  to  be  deserted  by  his  own  wife,  and  the 
breath  hardly  gone  out  yet  from  his  body  that  is 
lying  bloody  in  the  field ! 

(Enter  Mrs.  Fallon) 


Spreading  the  News  15 

Mrs.  Fallon:  What  is  it  the  whole  of  the  town 
is  talking  about?  And  what  is  it  you  yourselves 
are  talking  about?  Is  it  about  my  man  Bartley 
Fallon  you  are  talking?  Is  it  lies  about  him  you 
are  telling,  saying  that  he  went  killing  Jack  Smith? 
My  grief  that  ever  he  came  into  this  place  at  all! 

James  Ryan:  Be  easy  now,  Mrs.  Fallon.  Sure 
there  is  no  one  at  all  in  the  whole  fair  but  is  sorry 
for  you! 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Sorry  for  me,  is  it?  Why  would 
any  one  be  sorry  for  me?  Let  you  be  sorry  for 
yourselves,  and  that  there  may  be  shame  on  you 
for  ever  and  at  the  day  of  judgment,  for  the  words 
you  are  saying  and  the  lies  you  are  telling  to  take 
away  the  character  of  my  poor  man,  and  to  take 
the  good  name  off  of  him,  and  to  drive  him  to 
destruction !  That  is  what  you  are  doing ! 

Shawn  Early:  Take  comfort  now,  Mrs.  Fallon. 
The  police  are  not  so  smart  as  they  think.  Sure 
he  might  give  them  the  slip  yet,  the  same  as 
Lynchehaun. 

Mrs.  Tully:  If  they  do  get  him,  and  if  they  do 
put  a  rope  around  his  neck,  there  is  no  one  can 
say  he  does  not  deserve  it! 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Is  that  what  you  are  saying, 
Bridget  Tully,  and  is  that  what  you  think?  I 
tell  you  it's  too  much  talk  you  have,  making 
yourself  out  to  be  such  a  great  one,  and  to  be  run- 
ning down  every  respectable  person !  A  rope,  is  it? 


1 6  Spreading  the  News 

It  isn't  much  of  a  rope  was  needed  to  tie  up  your 
own  furniture  the  day  you  came  into  Martin 
Tully's  house,  and  you  never  bringing  as  much  as  a 
blanket,  or  a  penny,  or  a  suit  of  clothes  with  you 
and  I  myself  bringing  seventy  pounds  and  two 
feather  beds.  And  now  you  are  stiffer  than  a 
woman  would  have  a  hundred  pounds!  It  is  too 
much  talk  the  whole  of  you  have.  A  rope  is  it? 
I  tell  you  the  whole  of  this  town  is  full  of  liars  and 
schemers  that  would  hang  you  up  for  half  a  glass 
of  whiskey.  (Turning  to  go.}  People  they  are 
you  wouldn't  believe  as  much  as  daylight  from 
without  you'd  get  up  to  have  a  look  at  it  yourself. 
Killing  Jack  Smith  indeed !  Where  are  you  at  all, 
Bartley,  till  I  bring  you  out  of  this?  My  nice 
quiet  little  man!  My  decent  comrade!  He  that 
is  as  kind  and  as  harmless  as  an  innocent  beast  of 
the  field!  He'll  be  doing  no  harm  at  all  if  he'll 
shed  the  blood  of  some  of  you  after  this  day's 
work!  That  much  would  be  no  harm  at  all. 
(Calls  out.}  Bartley!  Bartley  Fallon!  Where 
are  you?  (Going  out.}  Did  any  one  see  Bartley 
Fallon? 

(All  turn  to  look  after  her.} 
James  Ryan:     It  is  hard  for  her  to  believe 
any  such  a  thing,  God  help  her! 

(Enter  Bartley  Fallon  from  right,  carrying 

hayfork.} 
Bartley:     It  is  what  I  often  said  to  myself,  if 


Spreading  the  News  17 

there  is  ever  any  misfortune  coming  to  this  world 
it  is  on  myself  it  is  sure  to  come ! 

(All  turn  round  and  face  him.} 

Bartley:  To  be  going  about  with  this  fork 
and  to  find  no  one  to  take  it,  and  no  place  to 
leave  it  down,  and  I  wanting  to  be  gone  out  of  this 
— Is  that  you,  Shawn  Early?  (Holds  out  fork.) 
It's  well  I  met  you.  You  have  no  call  to  be 
leaving  the  fair  for  a  while  the  way  I  have,  and 
how  can  I  go  till  I'm  rid  of  this  fork?  Will 
you  take  it  and  keep  it  until  such  time  as  Jack 
Smith 

Shawn  Early:  (Backing.)  I  will  not  take 
it,  Bartley  Fallen,  I'm  very  thankful  to  you! 

Bartley:  (Turning  to  apple  stall.)  Look  at  it  now, 
Mrs.  Tarpey,  it  was  here  I  got  it;  let  me  thrust 
it  in  under  the  stall.  It  will  lie  there  safe  enough, 
and  no  one  will  take  notice  of  it  until  such  time 
as  Jack  Smith 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  Take  your  fork  out  of  that !  Is 
it  to  put  trouble  on  me  and  to  destroy  me  you 
want?  putting  it  there  for  the  police  to  be  rooting 
it  out  maybe.  (Thrusts  him  back.) 

Bartley:  That  is  a  very  unneighbourly  thing 
for  you  to  do,  Mrs.  Tarpey.  Hadn't  I  enough 
care  on  me  with  that  fork  before  this,  running 
up  and  down  with  it  like  the  swinging  of  a  clock, 
and  afeard  to  lay  it  down  in  any  place!  I  wish 
I  never  touched  it  or  meddled  with  it  at  all! 


1 8  Spreading  the  News 

James  Ryan:     It  is  a  pity,  indeed,  you  ever  did. 

Bartley:  Will  you  yourself  take  it,  James 
Ryan?  You  were  always  a  neighbourly  man. 

James  Ryan:  (Backing.}  There  is  many  a  thing 
I  would  do  for  you,  Bartley  Fallen,  but  I  won't 
do  that! 

Shawn  Early:  I  tell  you  there  is  no  man  will 
give  you  any  help  or  any  encouragement  for  this 
day's  work.  If  it  was  something  agrarian  now— 

Bartley:  If  no  one  at  all  will  take  it,  maybe 
it's  best  to  give  it  up  to  the  police. 

Tim  Casey:  There'd  be  a  welcome  for  it  with 
them  surely!  (Laughter.} 

Mrs.  Tully:  And  it  is  to  the  police  Kitty 
Keary  herself  will  be  brought. 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  (Rocking  to  and  fro.}  I  wonder 
now  who  will  take  the  expense  of  the  wake  for 
poor  Jack  Smith? 

Bartley:  The  wake  for  Jack  Smith! 

Tim  Casey:  Why  wouldn't  he  get  a  wake  as  well 
as  another?  Would  you  begrudge  him  that  much? 

Bartley:  Red  Jack  Smith  dead!  Who  was 
telling  you? 

Shawn  Early:  The  whole  town  knows  of  it  by  this. 

Bartley:  Do  they  say  what  way  did  he  die? 

James  Ryan:  You  don't  know  that  yourself, 
I  suppose,  Bartley  Fallon?  You  don't  know  he 
was  followed  and  that  he  was  laid  dead  with  the 
stab  of  a  hayfork? 


Spreading  the  News  19 

i 

Bartley:  The  stab  of  a  hayfork! 

Shawn  Early:  You  don't  know,  I  suppose, 
that  the  body  was  found  in  the  Five  Acre  Meadow? 

Bartley:  The  Five  Acre  Meadow! 

Tim  Casey:  It  is  likely  you  don't  know  that  the 
police  are  after  the  man  that  did  it? 

Bartley:  The  man  that  did  it! 

Mrs.  Tully:  You  don't  know,  maybe,  that  he 
was  made  away  with  for  the  sake  of  Kitty  Keary, 
his  wife? 

Bartley:  Kitty  Keary,  his  wife! 
(Sits  down  bewildered.} 

Mrs.  Tully:  And  what  have  you  to  say  now, 
Bartley  Fallen? 

Bartley:  (Crossing  himself.}  I  to  bring  that  fork 
here,  and  to  find  that  news  before  me!  It  is 
much  if  I  can  ever  stir  from  this  place  at  all,  or 
reach  as  far  as  the  road ! 

Tim  Casey:  Look,  boys,  at  the  new  magistrate, 
and  Jo  Muldoon  along  with  him!  It's  best  for 
us  to  quit  this. 

Shawn  Early:  That  is  so.  It  is  best  not  to  be 
mixed  in  this  business  at  all. 

James  Ryan:  Bad  as  he  is,  I  wouldn't  like  to 
be  an  informer  against  any  man. 

(All  hurry  away  except  Mrs.  Tarpey,  who 
remains  behind  her  stall.  Enter  magis- 
trate and  policeman.} 

Magistrate:  I  knew  the  district  was  in  a  bad 


2O  Spreading  the  News 

state,  but  I  did  not  expect  to  be  confronted  with 
a  murder  at  the  first  fair  I  came  to. 

Policeman:  I  am  sure  you  did  not,  indeed. 

Magistrate:  It  was  well  I  had  not  gone  home. 
I  caught  a  few  words  here  and  there  that  roused 
my  suspicions. 

Policeman:  So  they  would,  too. 

Magistrate:  You  heard  the  same  story  from 
everyone  you  asked? 

Policeman:  The  same  story — or  if  it  was  not 
altogether  the  same,  anyway  it  was  no  less  than 
the  first  story. 

Magistrate:  What  is  that  man  doing?  He  is 
sitting  alone  with  a  hayfork.  He  has  a  guilty 
look.  The  murder  was  done  with  a  hayfork! 

Policeman:  (In  a  whisper.)  That's  the  very 
man  they  say  did  the  act;  Bartley  Fallon  himself! 

Magistrate:  He  must  have  found  escape  diffi- 
cult— he  is  trying  to  brazen  it  out.  A  convict 
in  the  Andaman  Islands  tried  the  same  game,  but 
he  could  not  escape  my  system!  Stand  aside — 
Don't  go  far — have  the  handcuffs  ready.  (He 
walks  up  to  Bartley,  folds  his  arms,  and  stands  before 
him.}  Here,  my  man,  do  you  know  anything  of 
John  Smith? 

Bartley:  Of  John  Smith!     Who  is  he,  now? 

Policeman:  Jack  Smith,  sir — Red  Jack  Smith ! 

Magistrate:  (Coming  a  step  nearer  and  tapping 
him  on  the  shoulder.}  Where  is  Jack  Smith? 


Spreading  the  News  21 

Bariley:  (With  a  deep  sigh,  and  shaking  his  head 
slowly.')  Where  is  he,  indeed? 

Magistrate:  What  have  you  to  tell? 

Bartley:  It  is  where  he  was  this  morning, 
standing  in  this  spot,  singing  his  share  of  songs — 
no,  but  lighting  his  pipe — scraping  a  match  on  the 
sole  of  his  shoe 

Magistrate:  I  ask  you,  for  the  third  time,  where 
is  he? 

Bartley:  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  that.  It  is  a 
great  mystery,  and  it  is  hard  to  say  of  any  man, 
did  he  earn  hatred  or  love. 

Magistrate:  Tell  me  all  you  know. 

Bartley:  All  that  I  know —  Well,  there  are 
the  three  estates;  there  is  Limbo,  and  there  is 
Purgatory,  and  there  is 

Magistrate:  Nonsense!  This  is  trifling!  Get 
to  the  point. 

Bartley:  Maybe  you  don't  hold  with  the 
clergy  so?  That  is  the  teaching  of  the  clergy. 
Maybe  you  hold  with  the  old  people.  It  is  what 
they  do  be  saying,  that  the  shadow  goes  wandering, 
and  the  soul  is  tired,  and  the  body  is  taking  a  rest — 
The  shadow!  (Starts  up.)  I  was  nearly  sure  I 
saw  Jack  Smith  not  ten  minutes  ago  at  the  corner 
of  the  forge,  and  I  lost  him  again —  Was  it 
his  ghost  I  saw,  do  you  think? 

Magistrate:  (To policeman.)  Conscience-struck! 
He  will  confess  all  now ! 


22  Spreading  the  News 

Bartley:  His  ghost  to  come  before  me!  It  is 
likely  it  was  on  account  of  the  fork!  I  to  have 
it  and  he  to  have  no  way  to  defend  himself  the 
time  he  met  with  his  death! 

Magistrate:  (To  policeman.}  I  must  note  down 
his  words.  (Takes  out  notebook.)  (To  Bartley:) 
I  warn  you  that  your  words  are  being  noted. 

Bartley:  If  I  had  ha'  run  faster  in  the  beginning, 
this  terror  would  not  be  on  me  at  the  latter  end! 
Maybe  he  will  cast  it  up  against  me  at  the  day  of 
judgment —  I  wouldn't  wonder  at  all  at  that. 

Magistrate:  (Writing.)  At  the  day  of  judg- 
ment  

Bartley:  It  was  soon  for  his  ghost  to  appear  to 
me — is  it  coming  after  me  always  by  day  it 
will  be,  and  stripping  the  clothes  off  in  the  night 
time? —  I  wouldn't  wonder  at  all  at  that,  being 
as  I  am  an  unfortunate  man ! 

Magistrate:  (Sternly.)  Tell  me  this  truly.  What 
was  the  motive  of  this  crime? 

Bartley:    The  motive,  is  it? 

Magistrate:     Yes;  the  motive;  the  cause. 

Bartley:     I'd  sooner  not  say  that. 

Magistrate:  You  had  better  tell  me  truly. 
Was  it  money? 

Bartley:  Not  at  all!  What  did  poor  Jack 
Smith  ever  have  in  his  pockets  unless  it  might 
be  his  hands  that  would  be  in  them? 

Magistrate:    Any  dispute  about  land? 


Spreading  the  News  23 

Bartley:  (Indignantly.}  Not  at  all!  He  never 
was  a  grabber  or  grabbed  from  any  one! 

Magistrate:  You  will  find  it  better  for  you  if 
you  tell  me  at  once. 

Bartley:  I  tell  you  I  wouldn't  for  the  whole 
world  wish  to  say  what  it  was — it  is  a  thing  I 
would  not  like  to  be  talking  about. 

Magistrate:  There  is  no  use  in  hiding  it.  It 
will  be  discovered  in  the  end. 

Bartley:  Well,  I  suppose  it  will,  seeing  that 
mostly  everybody  knows  it  before.  Whisper  here 
now.  I  will  tell  no  lie;  where  would  be  the  use? 
(Puts  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  Magistrate  stoops.) 
Don't  be  putting  the  blame  on  the  parish,  for  such 
a  thing  was  never  done  in  the  parish  before — it  was 
done  for  the  sake  of  Kitty  Keary,  Jack  Smith's  wife. 

Magistrate:   (To  policeman.)     Put  on  the  hand- 
cuffs.    We  have  been  saved  some  trouble.     I  knew 
he  would  confess  if  taken  in  the  right  way. 
(Policeman  puts  on  handcuffs. 

Bartley:     Handcuffs  now !     Glory  be !     I  always 

said,  if  there  was  ever  any  misfortune  coming  to 

this  place  it  was  on  myself  it  would  fall.     I  to 

be  in  handcuffs!    There's  no  wonder  at  all  in  that. 

(Enter  Mrs.   Fallon,  followed  by  the    rest. 

She  is  looking  back  at  them  as  she  speaks.) 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Telling  lies  the  whole  of  the  people 
of  this  town  are;  telling  lies,  telling  lies  as  fast  as 
a  dog  will  trot !  Speaking  against  my  poor  respect- 


24  Spreading  the  News 

able  man!  Saying  he  made  an  end  of  Jack  Smith i 
My  decent  comrade!  There  is  no  better  man  and 
no  kinder  man  in  the  whole  of  the  five  parishes ! 
It's  little  annoyance  he  ever  gave  to  any  one! 
(Turns  and  sees  him.)  What  in  the  earthly  world 
do  I  see  before  me?  Hartley  Fallon  in  charge  of 
the  police!  Handcuffs  on  him!  O  Bartley,  what 
did  you  do  at  all  at  all? 

Bartley:  O  Mary,  there  has  a  great  misfortune 
come  upon  me!  It  is  what  I  always  said,  that 
if  there  is  ever  any  misfortune 

Mrs.  Fallon:  What  did  he  do  at  all,  or  is  it 
bewitched  I  am? 

Magistrate:  This  man  has  been  arrested  on  a 
charge  of  murder. 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Whose  charge  is  that?  Don't 
believe  them!  They  are  all  liars  in  this  place! 
Give  me  back  my  man ! 

Magistrate.  It  is  natural  you  should  take  his 
part,  but  you  have  no  cause  of  complaint  against 
your  neighbours.  He  has  been  arrested  for  the 
murder  of  John  Smith,  on  his  own  confession. 

Mrs.  Fallon:  The  saints  of  heaven  protect  us! 
And  what  did  he  want  killing  Jack  Smith? 

Magistrate:  It  is  best  you  should  know  all.  He 
did  it  on  account  of  a  love  affair  with  the  murdered 
man's  wife. 

Mrs.  Fallon:  (Sitting  down.)  With  Jack  Smith's 
wife !  With  Kitty  Keary ! — Ochone,  the  traitor ! 


Spreading  the  News  25 

The  Crowd:  A  great  shame,  indeed.  He  is  a 
traitor,  indeed. 

Mrs.  Tully:  To  America  he  was  bringing  her, 
Mrs.  Fallon. 

Bartley:  What  are  you  saying,  Mary?  I  tell 
you 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Don't  say  a  word!  I  won't  listen 
to  any  word  you'll  say !  (Stops  her  ears.}  O,  isn't 
he  the  treacherous  villain?  Ohone  go  deo! 

Bartley:  Be  quiet  till  I  speak!  Listen  to 
what  I  say! 

Mrs.  Fallon:  Sitting  beside  me  on  the  ass  car 
coming  to  the  town,  so  quiet  and  so  respectable, 
and  treachery  like  that  in  his  heart! 

Bartley:  Is  it  your  wits  you  have  lost  or  is  it 
I  myself  that  have  lost  my  wits? 

Mrs.  Fallon:  And  it's  hard  I  earned  you,  slav- 
ing, slaving — and  you  grumbling,  and  sighing, 
and  coughing,  and  discontented,  and  the  priest 
wore  out  anointing  you,  with  all  the  times  you 
threatened  to  die! 

Bartley:    Let  you  be  quiet  till  I  tell  you! 

Mrs.  Fallon:  You  to  bring  such  a  disgrace  into 
the  parish.  A  thing  that  was  never  heard  of 
before ! 

Bartley:  Will  you  shut  your  mouth  and  hear 
me  speaking? 

Mrs.  Fallon:  And  if  it  was  for  any  sort  of  a 
fine  handsome  woman,  but  for  a  little  fistful  of  a 


26  Spreading  the  News 

woman  like  Kitty  Keary,  that's  not  four  feet  high 
hardly,  and  not  three  teeth  in  her  head  unless  she 
got  new  ones!  May  God  reward  you,  Bartley 
Fallon,  for  the  black  treachery  in  your  heart  and 
the  wickedness  in  your  mind,  and  the  red  blood  of 
poor  Jack  Smith  that  is  wet  upon  your  hand ! 
(Voice  of  Jack  Smith  heard  singing.} 

The  sea  shall  be  dry, 

The  earth  under  mourning  and  ban! 
Then  loud  shall  he  cry 

For  the  wife  of  the  red-haired  man! 

Bartley:  It's  Jack  Smith's  voice — I  never 
knew  a  ghost  to  sing  before — .  It  is  after  myself 
and  the  fork  he  is  coming!  (Goes  back.  Enter 
Jack  Smith.)  Let  one  of  you  give  him  the  fork 
and  I  will  be  clear  of  him  now  and  for  eternity! 

Mrs.  Tarpey:  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  us! 
Red  Jack  Smith !  The  man  that  was  going  to  be 
waked ! 

James  Ryan:  Is  it  back  from  the  grave  you  are 
come? 

Shawn  Early:  Is  it  alive  you  are,  or  is  it  dead 
you  are? 

Tim  Casey:     Is  it  yourself  at  all  that's  in  it? 

Mrs.  Tully.  Is  it  letting  on  you  were  to  be 
dead? 

Mrs.  Fallon:    Dead  or  alive,  let  you  stop  Kitty 


Spreading  the  News  27 

Keary,  your  wife,  from  bringing  my  man  away 
with  her  to  America! 

Jack  Smith:  It  is  what  I  think,  the  wits  are 
gone  astray  on  the  whole  of  you.  What  would  my 
wife  want  bringing  Bartley  Fallen  to  America? 

Mrs.  Fallon:  To  leave  yourself,  and  to  get  quit 
of  you  she  wants,  Jack  Smith,  and  to  bring  him 
away  from  myself.  That's  what  the  two  of  them 
had  settled  together. 

Jack  Smith:  I'll  break  the  head  of  any  man 
that  says  that!  Who  is  it  says  it?  (To  Tim 
Casey:)  Was  it  you  said  it?  (To  Shawn  Early:) 
Was  it  you? 

All  together:  (Backing  and  shaking  their  heads.) 
It  wasn't  I  said  it! 

Jack  Smith:  Tell  me  the  name  of  any  man  that 
said  it! 

All  together:  (Pointing  to  Bartley.)  It  was  him 
that  said  it ! 

Jack  Smith:  Let  me  at  him  till  I  break  his 
head! 

(Bartley  backs  in  terror.    Neighbours  hold 
Jack  Smith  back.) 

Jack  Smith:  (Trying  to  free  himself.)  Let  me  at 
him!  Isn't  he  the  pleasant  sort  of  a  scarecrow 
for  any  woman  to  be  crossing  the  ocean  with! 
It's  back  from  the  docks  of  New  York  he'd  be 
turned  (trying  to  rush  at  him  again),  with  a  lie  in 
his  mouth  and  treachery  in  his  heart,  and  another 


28  Spreading  the  News 

man's  wife  by  his  side,  and  he  passing  her  off  as 
his  own!     Let  me  at  him  can't  you. 

(Makes  another  rush,  but  is  held  back.} 

Magistrate:  (Pointing  to  Jack  Smith}  Policeman, 
put  the  handcuffs  on  this  man.  I  see  it  all  now. 
A  case  of  false  impersonation,  a  conspiracy  to 
defeat  the  ends  of  justice.  There  was  a  case  in 
the  Andaman  Islands,  a  murderer  of  the  Mopsa 
tribe,  a  religious  enthusiast — 

Policeman:    So  he  might  be,  too. 

Magistrate:  We  must  take  both  these  men  to 
the  scene  of  the  murder.  We  must  confront  them 
with  the  body  of  the  real  Jack  Smith. 

Jack  Smith:  I'll  break  the  head  of  any  man 
that  will  find  my  dead  body! 

Magistrate:  I'll  call  more  help  from  the  bar- 
racks. (Blows  Policeman1  s  whistle.} 

Bartley:  It  is  what  I  am  thinking,  if  myself 
and  Jack  Smith  are  put  together  in  the  one  cell 
for  the  night,  the  handcuffs  will  be  taken  off  him, 
and  his  hands  will  be  free,  and  murder  will  be  done 
that  time  surely ! 

Magistrate:    Come  on !     (They  turn  to  the  right.) 


HYACINTH  HALVEY 


PERSONS 
Hyacinth  Hahey. 
James  Quirke,  a  butcher. 
Fardy  Farrell,  a  telegraph  boy. 
Sergeant  Garden. 

Mrs.  Delane,  Postmistress  at  Cloon. 
Miss  Joyce,  the  Priest's  House-keeper. 


HYACINTH  HALVEY 

Scene:  Outside  the  Post  Office  at  the  little  town  of 
Cloon.  Mrs.  Delane  at  Post  Office  door.  Mr. 
Quirke  sitting  on  a  chair  at  butcher's  door.  A 
dead  sheep  hanging  beside  it,  and  a  thrush  in  a 
cage  above.  Fardy  Farrell  playing  on  a  mouth 
organ.  Train  whistle  heard. 

Mrs.  Delane:  There  is  the  four  o'clock  train, 
Mr.  Quirke. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Is  it  now,  Mrs.  Delane,  and  I 
not  long  after  rising?  It  makes  a  man  drowsy 
to  be  doing  the  half  of  his  work  in  the  night  time. 
Going  about  the  country,  looking  for  little  stags  of 
sheep,  striving  to  knock  a  few  shillings  together. 
That  contract  for  the  soldiers  gives  me  a  great  deal 
to  attend  to. 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  suppose  so.  It's  hard  enough 
on  myself  to  be  down  ready  for  the  mail  car  in  the 
morning,  sorting  letters  in  the  half  dark.  It's 
often  I  haven't  time  to  look  who  are  the  letters 
from — or  the  cards. 

Mr.  Quirke:  It  would  be  a  pity  you  not  to 
know  any  little  news  might  be  knocking  about. 
If  you  did  not  have  information  of  what  is  going 

31 


32  Hyacinth  Halvey 

on  who  should  have  it?  Was  it  you,  ma'am,  was 
telling  me  that  the  new  Sub-Sanitary  Inspector 
would  be  arriving  to-day? 

Mrs.  Delane:  To-day  it  is  he  is  coming,  and 
it's  likely  he  was  in  that  train.  There  was  a  card 
about  him  to  Sergeant  Garden  this  morning. 

Mr.  Quirke:  A  young  chap  from  Carrow  they 
were  saying  he  was. 

Mrs.  Delane:  So  he  is,  one  Hyacinth  Halvey; 
and  indeed  if  all  that  is  said  of  him  is  true,  or  if  a 
quarter  of  it  is  true,  he  will  be  a  credit  to  this  town. 

Mr.  Quirke:    Is  that  so? 

Mrs.  Delane:  Testimonials  he  has  by  the  score. 
To  Father  Gregan  they  were  sent.  Registered 
they  were  coming  and  going.  Would  you  believe 
me  telling  you  that  they  weighed  up  to  three 
pounds? 

Mr.  Quirke:  There  must  be  great  bulk  in 
them  indeed. 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  no  wonder  he  to  get  the 
job.  He  must  have  a  great  character  so  many 
persons  to  write  for  him  as  what  there  did. 

Fardy:  It  would  be  a  great  thing  to  have  a 
character  like  that. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Indeed  I  am  thinking  it  will  be 
long  before  you  will  get  the  like  of  it,  Fardy  Farrell. 

Fardy:  If  I  had  the  like  of  that  of  a  character 
it  is  not  here  carrying  messages  I  would  be.  It's 
in  Noonan's  Hotel  I  would  be,  driving  cars. 


Hyacinth  Halvey  33 

Mr,  Quirke:  Here  is  the  priest's  housekeeper 
coming. 

Mrs.  Delane:     So  she  is;  and  there  is  the  Ser- 
geant a  little  while  after  her. 
(Enter  Miss  Joyce.} 

Mrs.  Delane:  Good-evening  to  you,  Miss 
Joyce.  What  way  is  his  Reverence  to-day?  Did 
he  get  any  ease  from  the  cough? 

Miss  Joyce:  He  did  not  indeed,  Mrs.  Delane. 
He  has  it  sticking  to  him  yet.  Smothering  he 
is  in  the  night  time.  The  most  thing  he  comes 
short  in  is  the  voice. 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  am  sorry,  now,  to  hear  that. 
He  should  mind  himself  well. 

Miss  Joyce:  It's  easy  to  say  let  him  mind 
himself.  What  do  you  say  to  him  going  to  the 
meeting  to-night?  (Sergeant  comes  in.}  It's  for 
his  Reverence's  Freeman  I  am  come,  Mrs.  Delane. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Here  it  is  ready.  I  was  just 
throwing  an  eye  on  it  to  see  was  there  any  news. 
Good-evening,  Sergeant. 

Sergeant:  (Holding  up  a  placard.)  I  brought  this 
notice,  Mrs.  Delane,  the  announcement  of  the 
meeting  to  be  held  to-night  in  the  Courthouse. 
You  might  put  it  up  here  convenient  to  the  window. 
I  hope  you  are  coming  to  it  yourself? 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  will  come,  and  welcome.  I 
would  do  more  than  that  for  you,  Sergeant. 

Sergeant:    And  you,  Mr.  Quirke. 
-  a 


34  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Mr.  Quirke:  I'll  come,  to  be  sure.  I  forget 
what's  this  the  meeting  is  about. 

Sergeant:  The  Department  of  Agriculture  is 
sending  round  a  lecturer  in  furtherance  of  the 
moral  development  of  the  rural  classes.  (Reads.) 
"A  lecture  will  be  given  this  evening  in  Cloon 
Courthouse,  illustrated  by  magic  lantern  slides — 
Those  will  not  be  in  it;  I  am  informed  they  were 
all  broken  in  the  first  journey,  the  railway  company 
taking  them  to  be  eggs.  The  subject  of  the  lecture 
is  "The  Building  of  Character." 

Mrs.  Delane:  Very  nice,  indeed.  I  knew  a 
girl  lost  her  character,  and  she  washed  her  feet 
in  a  blessed  well  after,  and  it  dried  up  on  the 
minute. 

Sergeant:  The  arrangements  have  all  been 
left  to  me,  the  Archdeacon  being  away.  He 
knows  I  have  a  good  intellect  for  things  of  the 
sort.  But  the  loss  of  those  slides  puts  a  man  out. 
The  thing  people  will  not  see  it  is  not  likely  it 
is  the  thing  they  will  believe.  I  saw  what  they 
call  tableaux — standing  pictures,  you  know — one 
time  in  Dundrum 

Mrs.  Delane:  Miss  Joyce  was  saying  Father 
Gregan  is  supporting  you. 

Sergeant:  I  am  accepting  his  assistance.  No 
bigotry  about  me  when  there  is  a  question  of 
the  welfare  of  any  fellow-creatures.  Orange  and 
green  will  stand  together  to-night.  I  myself 


Hyacinth  Halvey  35 

and   the   station-master  on   the   one   side;  your 
parish  priest  in  the  chair. 

Miss  Joyce:  If  his  Reverence  would  mind  me 
he  would  not  quit  the  house  to-night.  He  is 
no  more  fit  to  go  speak  at  a  meeting  than  (pointing 
to  the  one  hanging  outside  Quirke's  door)  that  sheep. 

Sergeant:  I  am  willing  to  take  the  responsi- 
bility. He  will  have  no  speaking  to  do  at  all, 
unless  it  might  be  to  bid  them  give  the  lecturer 
a  hearing.  The  loss  of  those  slides  now  is  a  great 
annoyance  to  me — and  no  time  for  anything. 
The  lecturer  will  be  coming  by  the  next  train. 

Miss  Joyce:  Who  is  this  coming  up  the  street, 
Mrs.  Delane? 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  wouldn't  doubt  it  to  be  the 
new  Sub-Sanitary  Inspector.  Was  I  telling  you 
of  the  weight  of  the  testimonials  he  got,  Miss 
Joyce? 

Miss  Joyce:  Sure  I  heard  the  curate  reading 
them  to  his  Reverence.  He  must  be  a  wonder 
for  principles. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Indeed  it  is  what  I  was  saying  to 
myself,  he  must  be  a  very  saintly  young  man. 

(Enter  Hyacinth  Halvey.  He  carries  a  small 
bag  and  a  large  brown  paper  parcel.  He 
stops  and  nods  bashfully.} 

Hyacinth:  Good-evening  to  you.  I  was  bid 
to  come  to  the  post  office 

Sergeant:     I  suppose  you  are  Hyacinth  Halvey? 


36  Hyacinth  Halvey 

I  had  a  letter  about  you  from  the  Resident  Magis- 
trate. 

Hyacinth:  I  heard  he  was  writing.  It  was  my 
mother  got  a  friend  he  deals  with  to  ask  him. 

Sergeant:     He  gives  you  a  very  high  character. 

Hyacinth:  It  is  very  kind  of  him  indeed,  and 
he  not  knowing  me  at  all.  But  indeed  all  the 
neighbours  were  very  friendly.  Anything  any 
one  could  do  to  help  me  they  did  it. 

Mrs.  Delane:  I'll  engage  it  is  the  testimonals 
you  have  in  your  parcel?  I  know  the  wrapping 
paper,  but  they  grew  in  bulk  since  I  handled 
them. 

Hyacinth:  Indeed  I  was  getting  them  to  the 
last.  There  was  not  one  refused  me.  It  is  what 
my  mother  was  saying,  a  good  character  is  no 
burden. 

Fardy:    I  would  believe  that  indeed. 

Sergeant:  Let  us  have  a  look  at  the  testimonials. 
(Hyacinth  Halvey  opens  parcel,  and  a  large  number 
of  envelopes  fall  out.) 

Sergeant:     (Opening  and  reading  one  by  one). 
"He  possesses  the  fire  of  the  Gael,  the  strength 
of  the  Norman,  the  vigour  of  the  Dane,  the  stolid- 
ity of  the  Saxon" 

Hyacinth:  It  was  the  Chairman  of  the  Poor 
Law  Guardians  wrote  that. 

Sergeant:  "A  magnificent  example  to  old  and 
young" 


Hyacinth  Halvey  37 

Hyacinth:  That  was  the  Secretary  of  the  De 
Wet  Hurling  Club 

Sergeant:  "A  shining  example  of  the  value 
conferred  by  an  eminently  careful  and  high  class 
education" 

Hyacinth:  That  was  the  National  School- 
master. 

Sergeant:  "Devoted  to  the  highest  ideals  of 
his  Mother-land  to  such  an  extent  as  is  com- 
patible with  a  hitherto  non-parliamentary  ca- 
reer"  

Hyacinth:     That  was  the  Member  for  Carrow. 

Sergeant:  "A  splendid  exponent  of  the  purity 
of  the  race" 

Hyacinth:     The  Editor  of  the  Carrow  Champion. 

Sergeant:  ' '  Admirably  adapted  for  the  efficient 
discharge  of  all  possible  duties  that  may  in  future 
be  laid  upon  him"- 

Hyacinth:    The  new  Station-master. 

Sergeant:  "A  champion  of  every  cause  that 

can  legitimately  benefit  his  fellow-creatures" 

Why,  look  here,  my  man,  you  are  the  very  one 
to  come  to  our  assistance  to-night. 

Hyacinth:  I  would  be  glad  to  do  that.  What 
way  can  I  do  it  ? 

Sergeant:  You  are  a  newcomer — your  example 
would  carry  weight — you  must  stand  up  as  a  liv- 
ing proof  of  the  beneficial  effect  of  a  high  char- 
acter, moral  fibre,  temperance — there  is  something 


38  Hyacinth  Halvey 

about  it  here  I  am  sure — (Looks.)  I  am  sure  I 
saw  "unparalleled  temperance"  in  some  place 

Hyacinth:  It  was  my  mother's  cousin  wrote 
that — I  am  no  drinker,  but  I  haven't  the  pledge 
taken 

Sergeant:     You  might  take  it  for  the  purpose. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Eagerly.)  Here  is  an  anti-treating 
button.  I  was  made  a  present  of  it  by  one  of  my 
customers — I'll  give  it  to  you  (sticks  it  in  Hya- 
cinth's coat)  and  welcome. 

Sergeant:  That  is  it.  You  can  wear  the  button 
on  the  platform — or  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon — hundreds 
will  follow  your  example — I  know  the  boys  from  the 
Workhouse  will 

Hyacinth:  I  am  in  no  way  wishful  to  be  an 
example 

Sergeant:  I  will  read  extracts  from  the  testi- 
monials. "There  he  is,"  I  will  say,  "an  example 
of  one  in  early  life  who  by  his  own  unaided  efforts 
and  his  high  character  has  obtained  a  profitable 
situation" — (Slaps  his  side.)  I  know  what  I'll 
do.  I'll  engage  a  few  corner-boys  from  Noonan's 
bar,  just  as  they  are,  greasy  and  sodden,  to  stand 
in  a  group — there  will  be  the  contrast — The 
sight  will  deter  others  from  a  similar  fate — 
That's  the  way  to  do  a  tableau — I  knew  I  could 
turn  out  a  success. 

Hyacinth:     I  wouldn't  like  to  be  a  contrast 

Sergeant:   (Puts  testimonials  in  his  pocket.}     I 


Hyacinth  Halvey  39 

will  go  now  and  engage  those  lads — sixpence 
each,  and  well  worth  it — Nothing  like  an  ex- 
ample for  the  rural  classes. 

(Goes  off,  Hyacinth  feebly  trying  to  detain 
him.} 

Mrs.  Delane:  A  very  nice  man  indeed.  A  little 
high  up  in  himself,  may  be.  I'm  not  one  that 
blames  the  police.  Sure  they  have  their  own 
bread  to  earn  like  every  other  one.  And  indeed  it 
is  often  they  will  let  a  thing  pass. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Gloomily.}  Sometimes  they  will, 
and  more  times  they  will  not. 

Miss  Joyce:  And  where  will  you  be  finding  a 
lodging,  Mr.  Halvey? 

Hyacinth:  I  was  going  to  ask  that  myself, 
ma'am.  I  don't  know  the  town. 

Miss  Joyce:  I  know  of  a  good  lodging,  but  it 
is  only  a  very  good  man  would  be  taken  into  it. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Sure  there  could  be  no  objec- 
tion there  to  Mr.  Halvey.  There  is  no  appear- 
ance on  him  but  what  is  good,  and  the  Sergeant 
after  taking  him  up  the  way  he  is  doing. 

Miss  Joyce:  You  will  be  near  to  the  Sergeant 
in  the  lodging  I  speak  of.  The  house  is  convenient 
to  the  barracks. 

Hyacinth:  (Doubtfully.}     To  the  barracks? 

Miss  Joyce:  Alongside  of  it  and  the  barrack 
yard  behind.  And  that's  not  all.  It  is  opposite 
to  the  priest's  house. 


40  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Hyacinth:    Opposite,  is  it  ? 

Miss  Joyce:  A  very  respectable  place,  indeed, 
and  a  very  clean  room  you  will  get.  I  know  it 
well.  The  curate  can  see  into  it  from  his  window. 

Hyacinth:     Can  he  now? 

Fardy:  There  was  a  good  many,  I  am  thinking, 
went  into  that  lodging  and  left  it  after. 

Miss  Joyce:  (SJiarply  )  It  is  a  lodging  you  will 
never  be  let  into  or  let  stop  in,  Fardy.  If  they 
did  go  they  were  a  good  riddance. 

Fardy:    John  Hart,  the  plumber,  left  it 

Miss  Joyce:  If  he  did  it  was  because  he  dared 
not  pass  the  police  coming  in,  as  he  used,  with  a 
rabbit  he  was  after  snaring  in  his  hand. 

Fardy:    The  schoolmaster  himself  left  it. 

Miss  Joyce:  He  needn't  have  left  it  if  he  hadn't 
taken  to  card-playing.  What  way  could  you  say 
your  prayers,  and  shadows  shuffling  and  dealing 
before  you  on  the  blind? 

Hyacinth:  I  think  maybe  I'd  best  look  around 
a  bit  before  I'll  settle  in  a  lodging 

Miss  Joyce:  Not  at  all.  You  won't  be  want- 
ing to  pull  down  the  blind. 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  not  likely  you  will  be  snaring 
rabbits. 

Miss  Joyce:  Or  bringing  in  a  bottle  and  taking 
an  odd  glass  the  way  James  Kelly  did. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Or  writing  threatening  notices, 
and  the  police  taking  a  view  of  you  from  the  rear. 


Hyacinth  Halvey  41 

Miss  Joyce:  Or  going  to  roadside  dances,  or 
running  after  good-for-nothing  young  girls 

Hyacinth:  I  give  you  my  word  I'm  not  so 
harmless  as  you  think. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Would  you  be  putting  a  lie  on 
these,  Mr.  Halvey?  (Touching  testimonials.}  I 
know  well  the  way  you  will  be  spending  the  even- 
ings, writing  letters  to  your  relations 

Miss  Joyce:  Learning  O'Growney's  exercises 

Mrs.  Delane:  Sticking  post  cards  in  an  album 
for  the  convent  bazaar. 

Miss  Joyce:  Reading  the  Catholic  Young 
Man 

Mrs.  Delane:  Playing  the  melodies  on  a 
melodeon 

Miss  Joyce:  Looking  at  the  pictures  in  the 
Lives  of  the  Saints.  I'll  hurry  on  and  engage 
the  room  for  you. 

Hyacinth:    Wait.     Wait  a  minute 

Miss  Joyce:  No  trouble  at  all.  I  told  you  it 
was  just  opposite.  (Goes.) 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  suppose  I  must  go  upstairs 
and  ready  myself  for  the  meeting.  If  it  wasn't 
for  the  contract  I  have  for  the  soldiers'  barracks 
and  the  Sergeant's  good  word,  I  wouldn't  go 
anear  it.  (Goes  into  shop.) 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  should  be  making  myself  ready 
too.  I  must  be  in  good  time  to  see  you  being 
made  an  example  of,  Mr.  Halvey.  It  is  I  myself 


42  Hyacinth  Halvey 

was  the  first  to  say  it;  you  will  be  a  credit  to  the 
town.     (Goes.) 

Hyacinth:  (In  a  tone  of  agony.)  I  wish  I  had 
never  seen  Cloon. 

Fardy:    What  is  on  you? 

Hyacinth:  I  wish  I  had  never  left  Carrow. 
I  wish  I  had  been  drowned  the  first  day  I  thought 
of  it,  and  I'd  be  better  off. 

Fardy:    What  is  it  ails  you? 

Hyacinth:  I  wouldn't  for  the  best  pound  ever 
I.  had  be  in  this  place  to-day. 

Fardy:  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 

Hyacinth:  To  have  left  Carrow,  if  it  was  a 
poor  place,  where  I  had  my  comrades,  and  an 
odd  spree,  and  a  game  of  cards — and  a  coursing 
match  coming  on,  and  I  promised  a  new  grey- 
hound from  the  city  of  Cork.  I'll  die  in  this  place, 
the  way  I  am.  I'll  be  too  much  closed  in. 

Fardy:  Sure  it  mightn't  be  as  bad  as  what  you 
think. 

Hyacinth:  Will  you  tell  me,  I  ask  you,  what 
way  can  I  undo  it? 

Fardy:     What  is  it  you  are  wanting  to  undo? 

Hyacinth:  Will  you  tell  me  what  way  can  I 
get  rid  of  my  character? 

Fardy:    To  get  rid  of  it,  is  it? 

Hyacinth:  That  is  what  I  said.  Aren't  you 
after  hearing  the  great  character  they  are  after 
putting  on  me? 


Hyacinth  Halvey  43 

Fardy:    That  is  a  good  thing  to  have. 

Hyacinth:  It  is  not.  It's  the  worst  in  the 
world.  If  I  hadn't  it,  I  wouldn't  be  like  a  prize 
mangold  at  a  show  with  every  person  praising 
me. 

Fardy:  If  I  had  it,  I  wouldn't  be  like  a  head 
in  a  barrel,  with  every  person  making  hits  at  me. 

Hyacinth:  If  I  hadn't  it,  I  wouldn't  be  shoved 
into  a  room  with  all  the  clergy  watching  me  and 
the  police  in  the  back  yard. 

Fardy:  If  I  had  it,  I  wouldn't  be  but  a  message- 
carrier  now,  and  a  clapper  scaring  birds  in  the 
summer  time. 

Hyacinth:  If  I  hadn't  it,  I  wouldn't  be  wearing 
this  button  and  brought  up  for  an  example  at 
the  meeting. 

Fardy:  (Whistles.}  Maybe  you're  not,  so,  what 
those  papers  make  you  out  to  be? 

Hyacinth:  How  would  I  be  what  they  make 
me  out  to  be?  Was  there  ever  any  person  of  that 
sort  since  the  world  was  a  world,  unless  it  might 
be  Saint  Antony  of  Padua  looking  down  from  the 
chapel  wall?  If  it  is  like  that  I  was,  isn't  it  in 
Mount  Melleray  I  would  be,  or  with  the  Friars 
at  Esker?  Why  would  I  be  living  in  the  world  at 
all,  or  doing  the  world's  work? 

Fardy:  (Taking  up  parcel.}  Who  would  think, 
now,  there  would  be  so  much  lies  in  a  small  place 
like  Carrow? 


44  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Hyacinth:  It  was  my  mother's  cousin  did  it. 
He  said  I  was  not  reared  for  labouring — he  gave 
me  a  new  suit  and  bid  me  never  to  come  back 
again.  I  daren't  go  back  to  face  him — the  neigh- 
bours knew  my  mother  had  a  long  family — bad 
luck  to  them  the  day  they  gave  me  these.  (Tears 
letters  and  scatters  them.}  I'm  done  with  testimo- 
nials. They  won't  be  here  to  bear  witness  against 
me. 

Fardy:  The  Sergeant  thought  them  to  be 
great.  Sure  he  has  the  samples  of  them  in  his 
pocket.  There's  not  one  in  the  town  but  will 
know  before  morning  that  you  are  the  next  thing 
to  an  earthly  saint. 

Hyacinth:  (Stamping.}  I'll  stop  their  mouths. 
I'll  show  them  I  can  be  a  terror  for  badness.  I'll 
do  some  injury.  I'll  commit  some  crime.  The 
first  thing  I'll  do  I'll  go  and  get  drunk.  If  I  never 
did  it  before  I'll  do  it  now.  I'll  get  drunk — then 
I'll  make  an  assault — I  tell  you  I'd  think  as  little 
of  taking  a  life  as  of  blowing  out  a  candle. 

Fardy:  If  you  get  drunk  you  are  done  for. 
Sure  that  will  be  held  up  after  as  an  excuse  for 
any  breaking  of  the  law. 

Hyacinth:  I  will  break  the  law.  Drunk  or 
sober  I'll  break  it.  I'll  do  something  that  will 
have  no  excuse.  What  would  you  say  is  the  worst 
crime  that  any  man  can  do  ? 

Fardy:  I  don't  know.     I  heard   the  Sergeant 


Hyacinth  Halvey  45 

saying  one  time  it  was  to  obstruct  the  police  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duty 

Hyacinth:  That  won't  do.  It's  a  patriot  I 
would  be  then,  worse  than  before,  with  my  picture 
in  the  weeklies.  It's  a  red  crime  I  must  commit 
that  will  make  all  respectable  people  quit  minding 
me.  What  can  I  do?  Search  your  mind  now. 

Fardy:  It's  what  I  heard  the  old  people  saying 
there  could  be  no  worse  crime  than  to  steal  a 
sheep 

Hyacinth:  I'll  steal  a  sheep — or  a  cow — or  a 
horse — if  that  will  leave  me  the  way  I  was  before. 

Fardy:  It's  maybe  in  gaol  it  will  leave  you. 

Hyacinth:  I  don't  care — I'll  confess — I'll  tell  why 
I  did  it — I  give  you  my  word  I  would  as  soon  be 
picking  oakum  or  breaking  stones  as  to  be  perched 
in  the  daylight  the  same  as  that  bird,  and  all  the 
town  chirruping  to  me  or  bidding  me  chirrup — 

Fardy:  There  is  reason  in  that,  now. 

Hyacinth:  Help  me,  will  you? 

Fardy:  Well,  if  it  is  to  steal  a  sheep  you  want, 
you  haven't  far  to  go. 

Hyacinth:  (Looking  round  wildly.}  Where  is  it  ? 
I  see  no  sheep. 

Fardy:  Look  around  you. 

Hyacinth:  I  see  no  living  thing  but  that 
thrush 

Fardy:  Did  I  say  it  was  living?  What  is  that 
hanging  on  Quirke's  rack? 


46  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Hyacinth:  It's  (fingers  if)  a  sheep,  sure 
enough 

Fardy:  Well,  what  ails  you  that  you  can't 
bring  it  away? 

Hyacinth:  It's  a  dead  one 

Fardy:  What  matter  if  it  is? 

Hyacinth:  If  it  was  living  I  could  drive  it 
before  me 

Fardy:  You  could.  Is  it  to  your  own  lodging 
you  would  drive  it?  Sure  everyone  would  take 
it  to  be  a  pet  you  brought  from  Carrow. 

Hyacinth:  I  suppose  they  might. 

Fardy:  Miss  Joyce  sending  in  for  news  of  it 
and  it  bleating  behind  the  bed. 

Hyacinth:  (Distracted).     Stop!  stop! 

Mrs.  Delane:  (From  upper  window.}  Fardy! 
Are  you  there,  Fardy  Farrell? 

Fardy:  I  am,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Delane:  (From  window.}  Look  and  tell  me 
is  that  the  telegraph  I  hear  ticking  ? 

Fardy:  (Looking  in  at  door.}     It  is,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Then  botheration  to  it,  and  I 
not  dressed  or  undressed.  Wouldn't  you  say, 
now,  it's  to  annoy  me  it  is  calling  me  down.  I'm 
coming!  I'm  coming!  (Disappears.} 

Fardy:  Hurry  on,  now!  hurry!  She'll  be 
coming  out  on  you.  If  you  are  going  to  do  it, 
do  it,  and  if  you  are  not,  let  it  alone. 

Hyacinth:~I']l  do  it!    I'll  do  it! 


Hyacinth  Halvey  47 

Fardy:  (Lifting  the  sheep  on  his  back.)  I'll  give 
you  a  hand  with  it. 

Hyacinth:  (Goes  a  step  or  two  and  turns  round.) 
You  told  me  no  place  where  I  could  hide  it. 

Fardy:  You  needn't  go  far.  There  is  the 
church  beyond  at  the  side  of  the  Square.  Go 
round  to  the  ditch  behind  the  wall — there's 
nettles  in  it. 

Hyacinth:  That'll  do. 

Fardy:  She's  coming  out — run!  run! 

Hyacinth:  (Runs  a  step  or  two.)     It's  slipping! 

Fardy:  Hoist  it  up!  I'll  give  it  a  hoist!  (Hal- 
vey runs  out.) 

Mrs.  Delane:  (Calling  out.)  What  are  you  doing 
Fardy  Farrell  ?  Is  it  idling  you  are  ? 

Fardy:  Waiting  I  am,  ma'am,  for  the  mes- 
sage  

Mrs.  Delane:  Never  mind  the  message  yet. 
Who  said  it  was  ready  ?  (Going  to  door.)  Go  ask 
for  the  loan  of — no,  but  ask  news  of — Here,  now 
go  bring  that  bag  of  Mr.  Halvey's  to  the  lodging 
Miss  Joyce  has  taken 

Fardy:  I  will,  ma'am.      (Takes  bag  and  goes  out.) 

Mrs.  Delane:  (Coming  out  with  a  telegram  in  her 
hand.)  Nobody  here?  (Looks  round  and  calls 
cautiously.)  Mr.  Quirke!  Mr.  Quirke!  James 
Quirke! 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Looking  out  of  his  upper  window 
•with  soap-suddy  face).  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Delane? 


48  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Mrs.  Delane:  (Beckoning.)  Come  down  here 
till  I  tell  you. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  cannot  do  that.  I'm  not  fully 
shaved. 

Mrs.  Delane:  You'd  come  if  you  knew  the 
news  I  have: 

Mr.  Quirke:  Tell  it  to  me  now.  I'm  not  so 
supple  as  I  was. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Whisper  now,  have  you  an 
enemy  in  any  place? 

Mr.  Quirke:  It's  likely  I  may  have.  A  man 
in  business 

Mrs.  Delane:     I  was  thinking  you  had  one. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Why  would  you  think  that  at  this 
time  more  than  any  other  time? 

Mrs.  Delane:  If  you  could  know  what  is  in 
this  envelope  you  would  know  that,  James  Quirke. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Is  that  so?  And  what,  now,  is 
there  in  it? 

Mrs.  Delane:  Who  do  you  think  now  is  it 
addressed  to? 

Mr.  Quirke:  How  would  I  know  that,  and  I 
not  seeing  it? 

Mrs.  Delane:  That  is  true.  Well,  it  is  a  mes- 
sage from  Dublin  Castle  to  the  Sergeant  of  Police! 

Mr.  Quirke:    To  Sergeant  Garden,  is  it? 

Mrs.  Delane:     It  is.    And  it  concerns  yourself. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Myself,  is  it?  What  accusation  can 
they  be  bringing  against  me ?  I'm  a  peaceable  man. 


Hyacinth  Halvey  49 

Mrs.  Delane:    Wait  till  you  hear. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Maybe  they  think  I  was  in  that 
moonlighting  case 

Mrs.  Delane:    That  is  not  it 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  was  not  in  it — I  was  but  in  the 
neighbouring  field — cutting  up  a  dead  cow,  that 
those  never  had  a  hand  in 

Mrs.  Delane:    You're  out  of  it — 

Mr.  Quirke:  They  had  their  faces  blackened. 
There  is  no  man  can  say  I  recognized  them. 

Mrs.  Delane:  That's  not  what  they're  say- 
ing  

Mr.  Quirke:  I'll  swear  I  did  not  hear  their 
voices  or  know  them  if  I  did  hear  them. 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  tell  you  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  that.  It  might  be  better  for  you  if  it  had. 

Mr.  Quirke:    What  is  it,  so? 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  an  order  to  the  Sergeant 
bidding  him  immediately  to  seize  all  suspicious 
meat  in  your  house.  There  is  an  officer  coming 
down.  There  are  complaints  from  the  Shannon 
Fort  Barracks. 

Mr.  Quirke:     I'll  engage  it  was  that  pork. 

Mrs.  Delane:  What  ailed  it  for  them  to  find 
fault? 

Mr.  Quirke:  People  are  so  hard  to  please 
nowadays,  and  I  recommended  them  to  salt  it. 

Mrs.  Delane:  They  had  a  right  to  have  minded 
your  advice. 


50  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Mr.  Quirke:  There  was  nothing  on  that  pig 
at  all  but  that  it  went  mad  on  poor  O'Grady 
that  owned  it. 

Mrs.  Delane:  So  I  heard,  and  went  killing  all 
before  it. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Sure  it's  only  in  the  brain  madness 
can  be.  I  heard  the  doctor  saying  that. 

Mrs.  Delane:    He  should  know. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  give  you  my  word  I  cut  the 
head  off  it.  I  went  to  the  loss  of  it,  throwing 
it  to  the  eels  in  the  river.  If  they  had  salted  the 
meat,  as  I  advised  them,  what  harm  would  it 
have  done  to  any  person  on  earth? 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  hope  no  harm  will  come  on 
poor  Mrs.  Quirke  and  the  family. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Maybe  it  wasn't  that  but  some 
other  thing 

Mrs.  Delane:  Here  is  Fardy.  I  must  send  the 
message  to  the  Sergeant.  Well,  Mr.  Quirke, 
I'm  glad  I  had  the  time  to  give  you  a  warning. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I'm  obliged  to  you,  indeed.  You 
were  always  very  neighbourly,  Mrs.  Delane.  Don't 
be  too  quick  now  sending  the  message.  There  is 
just  one  article  I  would  like  to  put  away  out  of  the 
house  before  the  Sergeant  will  come.  (Enter  Fardy.) 

Mrs.  Delane:  Here  now,  Fardy — that's  not 
the  way  you're  going  to  the  barracks.  Anyone 
would  think  you  were  scaring  birds  yet.  Put  on 
your  uniform.  (Fardy  goes  into  office.}  You 


Hyacinth  Halvey  51 

have  this  message  to  bring  to  the  Sergeant  of 
Police.     Get  your  cap  now,  it's  under  the  counter. 
(Fardy  reappears,  and  she  gives  him  tele- 
gram.} 

Fardy:  I'll  bring  it  to  the  station.  It's  there 
he  was  going. 

Mrs.  Delane:  You  will  not,  but  to  the  barracks. 
It  can  wait  for  him  there. 

(Fardy  goes  off.     Mr.  Quirke  has  appeared 
at  door.) 

Mr.  Quirke:  It  was  indeed  a  very  neighbourly 
act,  Mrs.  Delane,  and  I'm  obliged  to  you.  There 
is  just  one  article  to  put  out  of  the  way.  The 
Sergeant  may  look  about  him  then  and  welcome. 
It's  well  I  cleared  the  premises  on  yesterday.  A 
consignment  to  Birmingham  I  sent.  The  Lord 
be  praised  isn't  England  a  terrible  country  with  all 
it  consumes? 

Mrs.  Delane:  Indeed  you  always  treat  the 
neighbours  very  decent,  Mr.  Quirke,  not  asking 
them  to  buy  from  you. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Just  one  article.  (Turns  to  rack.) 
That  sheep  I  brought  in  last  night.  It  was  for 
a  charity  indeed  I  bought  it  from  the  widow 
woman  at  Kiltartan  Cross.  Where  would  the 
poor  make  a  profit  out  of  their  dead  meat  without 
me?  Where  now  is  it?  Well,  now,  I  could  have 
swore  that  that  sheep  was  hanging  there  on  the 
Tack  when  I  went  in 


52  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Mrs.  Delane:  You  must  have  put  it  in  some 
other  place. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Going  in  and  searching  and  coming 
out.}  I  did  not;  there  is  no  other  place  for  me  to 
put  it.  Is  it  gone  blind  I  am,  or  is  it  not  in  it, 
it  is? 

Mrs.  Delane:    It's  not  there  now  anyway. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Didn't  you  take  notice  of  it 
there  yourself  this  morning? 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  have  it  in  my  mind  that  I  did; 
but  it's  not  there  now. 

Mr.  Quirke:  There  was  no  one  here  could 
bring  it  away? 

Mrs.  Delane:  Is  it  me  myself  you  suspect  of 
taking  it,  James  Quirke? 

Mr.  Quirke:  Where  is  it  at  all?  It  is  certain 
it  was  not  of  itself  it  walked  away.  It  was  dead, 
and  very  dead,  the  time  I  bought  it. 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  have  a  pleasant  neighbour 
indeed  that  accuses  me  that  I  took  his  sheep. 
I  wonder,  indeed,  you  to  say  a  thing  like  that! 
I  to  steal  your  sheep  or  your  rack  or  anything 
that  belongs  to  you  or  to  your  trade!  Thank 
you,  James  Quirke.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you 
indeed. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Ah,  be  quiet,  woman;  be  quiet 

Mrs.  Delane:  And  let  me  tell  you,  James 
Quirke,  that  I  would  sooner  starve  and  see  every- 
one belonging  to  me  starve  than  to  eat  the  size 


Hyacinth  Halvey  53 

of  a  thimble  of  any  joint  that  ever  was  on  your 
rack  or  that  ever  will  be  on  it,  whatever  the  soldiers 
may  eat  that  have  no  other  thing  to  get,  or  the 
English  that  devour  all  sorts,  or  the  poor  ravenous 
people  that's  down  by  the  sea!  (She  turns  to  go 
into  shop.} 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Stopping  her.}  Don't  be  talking 
foolishness,  woman.  Who  said  you  took  my  meat? 
Give  heed  to  me  now.  There  must  some  other 
message  have  come.  The  Sergeant  must  have  got 
some  other  message. 

Mrs.  Delane:  (Sulkily.}  If  there  is  any  way  for  a 
message  to  come  that  is  quicker  than  to  come  by 
the  wires,  tell  me  what  it  is  and  I'll  be  obliged  to 
you. 

Mr.  Quirke:  The  Sergeant  was  up  here  making 
an  excuse  he  was  sticking  up  that  notice.  What 
was  he  doing  here,  I  ask  you? 

Mrs.  Delane:  How  would  I  know  what  brought 
him? 

Mr.  Quirke:  It  is  what  he  did;  he  made  as  if 
to  go  away — he  turned  back  again  and  I  shaving 
• — he  brought  away  the  sheep — he  will  have  it  for 
evidence  against  me— 

Mrs.  Delane:  (Interested.}     That  might  be  so. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  would  sooner  it  to  have  been 
any  other  beast  nearly  ever  I  had  upon  the  rack. 

Mrs.  Delane:     Is  that  so? 

Mr.  Quirke:     I  bade  the  Widow  Early  to  kill 


54  Hyacinth  Halvey 

it  a  fortnight  ago — but  she  would  not,  she  was 
that  covetous! 

Mrs.  Delane:    What  was  on  it? 

Mr.  Quirke:  How  would  I  know  what  was  on 
it?  Whatever  was  on  it,  it  was  the  will  of  God 
put  it  upon  it — wasted  it  was,  and  shivering  and 
refusing  its  share. 

Mrs.  Delane:    The  poor  thing. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Gone  all  to  nothing — wore  away 
like  a  flock  of  thread.  It  did  not  weigh  as  much 
as  a  lamb  of  two  months. 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  likely  the  Inspector  will 
bring  it  to  Dublin  ? 

Mr.  Quirke:  The  ribs  of  it  streaky  with  the 
dint  of  patent  medicines 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  wonder  is  it  to  the  Petty 
Sessions  you'll  be  brought  or  is  it  to  the  Assizes? 

Mr.  Quirke:  I'll  speak  up  to  them.  I'll  make 
my  defence.  What  can  the  Army  expect  at 
fippence  a  pound  ? 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  likely  there  will  be  no  bail 
allowed  ? 

Mr.  Quirke:  Would  they  be  wanting  me  to 
give  them  good  quality  meat  out  of  my  own 
pocket?  Is  it  to  encourage  them  to  fight  the 
poor  Indians  and  Africans  they  would  have  me? 
It's  the  Anti-Enlisting  Societies  should  pay  the 
fine  for  me. 

Mrs.  Delane:     It's  not  a  fine  will  be  put  on  you, 


Hyacinth  Halvey  55 

I'm  afraid.  It's  five  years  in  gaol  you  will  be 
apt  to  be  getting.  Well,  I'll  try  and  be  a  good 
neighbour  to  poor  Mrs.  Quirke. 

(Mr.  Quirke,  who  has  been  stamping  up  and 
down,  sits  down  and  weeps.  Halvey 
comes  in  and  stands  on  one  side.) 

Mr.  Quirke:  Hadn't  I  heart-scalding  enough 
before,  striving  to  rear  five  weak  children? 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  suppose  they  will  be  sent  to 
the  Industrial  Schools? 

Mr.  Quirke:    My  poor  wife — 

Mrs.  Delane:     I'm  afraid  the  workhouse 

Mr.  Quirke:  And  she  out  in  an  ass-car  at  this 
minute  helping  me  to  follow  my  trade. 

Mrs.  De  ane:  I  hope  they  will  not  arrest  her 
along  with  you. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I'll  give  myself  up  to  justice.  I'll 
plead  guilty!  I'll  be  recommended  to  mercy! 

Mrs.  Delane:     It  might  be  best  for  you. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Who  would  think  so  great  a 
misfortune  could  come  upon  a  family  through  the 
bringing  away  of  one  sheep! 

Hyacinth:  (Coming  forward.)  Let  you  make 
yourself  easy. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Easy!  It's  easy  to  say  let  you 
make  yourself  easy, 

Hyacinth:    I  can  tell  you  where  it  is. 

Mr.  Quirke:    Where  what  is? 

Hyacinth:     The  sheep  you  are  fretting  after. 


56'  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Mr.  Quirke:     What  do  you  know  about  it? 

Hyacinth:     I  know  everything  about  it. 

Mr.  Quirke:     I  suppose  the  Sergeant  told  you? 

Hyacinth:    He  told  me  nothing. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  suppose  the  whole  town  knows 
it,  so? 

Hyacinth:    No  one  knows  it,  as  yet. 

Mr.  Quirke:     And  the  Sergeant  didn't  see  it? 

Hyacinth:  No  one  saw  it  or  brought  it  away 
but  myself. 

Mr.  Quirke:     Where  did  you  put  it  at  all  ? 

Hyacinth:  In  the  ditch  behind  the  church  wall. 
In  among  the  nettles  it  is.  Look  at  the  way  they 
have  me  stung.  (Holds  out  hands.} 

Mr.  Quirke:  In  the  ditch!  The  best  hiding 
place  in  the  town. 

Hyacinth:  I  never  thought  it  would  bring 
such  great  trouble  upon  you.  You  can't  say 
anyway  I  did  not  tell  you. 

Mr.  Quirke:  You  yourself  that  brought  it 
away  and  that  hid  it!  I  suppose  it  was  coming 
in  the  train  you  got  information  about  the  message 
to  the  police. 

Hyacinth:     What  now  do  you  say  to  me? 

Mr.  Quirke:  Say !  I  say  I  am  as  glad  to  hear 
what  you  said  as  if  it  was  the  Lord  telling  me  I'd 
be  in  heaven  this  minute. 

Hyacinth:     What  are  you  going  to  do  to  me? 

Mr.  Quirke:     Do,  is  it?     (Grasps   his   hand.) 


Hyacinth  Halvey  57 

Any  earthly  thing  you  would  wish  me  to  do,  I 
will  do  it. 

Hyacinth:    I  suppose  you  will  tell 

Mr.  Quirke:  Tell!  It's  I  that  will  tell  when 
all  is  quiet.  It  is  I  will  give  you  the  good  name 
through  the  town! 

Hyacinth:    I  don't  well  understand. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Embracing  him.)  The  man  that 
preserved  me! 

Hyacinth:    That  preserved  you? 

Mr.  Quirke:    That  kept  me  from  ruin ! 

Hyacinth:    From  ruin? 

Mr.  Quirke:     That  saved  me  from  disgrace! 

Hyacinth:  (To  Mrs.  Delane.}  What  is  he  saying 
at  all? 

Mr.  Quirke:    From  the  Inspector! 

Hyacinth:    What  is  he  talking  about? 

Mr.  Quirke:    From  the  magistrates! 

Hyacinth:    He  is  making  some  mistake. 

Mr.  Quirke:    From  the  Winter  Assizes! 

Hyacinth:    Is  he  out  of  his  wits? 

Mr.  Quirke:    Five  years  in  gaol! 

Hyacinth:    Hasn't  he  the  queer  talk? 

Mr.  Quirke:    The  loss  of  the  contract ! 

Hyacinth:    Are  my  own  wits  gone  astray? 

Mr.  Quirke:    What  way  can  I  repay  you? 

Hyacinth:  (Shouting.}  I  tell  you  I  took  the 
sheep 

Mr.  Quirke:    You  did,  God  reward  you! 


58  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Hyacinth:    I  stole  away  with  it — 


Mr.  Quirke:    The  blessing  of  the  poor  on  you! 

Hyacinth:    I  put  it  out  of  sight 

Mr.  Quirke:  The  blessing  of  my  five  chil- 
dren  

Hyacinth:    I  may  as  well  say  nothing 

Mrs.  Delane:  Let  you  be  quiet  now,  Quirke. 
Here's  the  Sergeant  coming  to  search  the  shop — 

(Sergeant   comes  in:    Quirke  leaves   go   of 
Halvey,  who  arranges  his  hat,  etc.) 

Sergeant:    The  Department  to  blazes! 

Mrs.  Delane:     What  is  it  is  putting  you  out? 

Sergeant:  To  go  to  the  train  to  meet  the  lec- 
turer, and  there  to  get  a  message  through  the 
guard  that  he  was  unavoidably  detained  in  the 
South,  holding  an  inquest  on  the  remains  of  a 
drake. 

Mrs.  Delane:    The  lecturer,  is  it? 

Sergeant:  To  be  sure.  What  else  would  I  be 
talking  of?  The  lecturer  has  failed  me,  and  where 
am  I  to  go  looking  for  a  person  that  I  would  think 
fitting  to  take  his  place? 

Mrs.  Delane:  And  that's  all?  And  you  didn't 
get  any  message  but  the  one? 

Sergeant:  Is  that  all?  I  am  surprised  at  you, 
Mrs.  Delane.  Isn't  it  enough  to  upset  a  man, 
within  three  quarters  of  an  hour  of  the  time  of 
the  meeting?  Where,  I  would  ask  you,  am  I  to 
find  a  man  that  has  education  enough  and  wit 


Hyacinth  Halvey  59 

enough  and  character  enough  to  put  up  speaking 
on  the  platform  on  the  minute? 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Jumps  up.}  It  is  I  myself  will 
tell  you  that. 

Sergeant:    You ! 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Slapping  Halvey  on  the  back.) 
Look  at  here,  Sergeant.  There  is  not  one  word 
was  said  in  all  those  papers  about  this  young  man 
before  you  but  it  is  true.  And  there  could  be  no 
good  thing  said  of  him  that  would  be  too  good  for 
him. 

Sergeant:    It  might  not  be  a  bad  idea. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Whatever  the  paper  said  about 
him,  Sergeant,  I  can  say  more  again.  It  has  come 
to  my  knowledge — by  chance — that  since  he  came 
to  this  town  that  young  man  has  saved  a  whole 
family  from  destruction. 

Sergeant:  That  is  much  to  his  credit — helping 
the  rural  classes 

Mr.  Quirke:  A  family  and  a  long  family,  big 
and  little,  like  sods  of  turf — and  they  depending 
on  a — on  one  that  might  be  on  his  way  to  dark 
trouble  at  this  minute  if  it  was  not  for  his  assist- 
ance. Believe  me,  he  is  the  most  sensible  man,  and 
the  wittiest,  and  the  kindest,  and  the  best  helper  of 
the  poor  that  ever  stood  before  you  in  this  square. 
Is  not  that  so,  Mrs.  Delane? 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  true  indeed.  Where  he  gets 
his  wisdom  and  his  wit  and  his  information  from 


60  Hyacinth  Halvey 

I  don't  know,  unless  it  might  be  that  he  is  gifted 
from  above. 

Sergeant:  Well,  Mrs.  Delane,  I  think  we  have 
settled  that  question.  Mr.  Halvey,  you  will  be 
the  speaker  at  the  meeting.  The  lecturer  sent 
these  notes — you  can  lengthen  them  into  a 
speech.  You  can  call  to  the  people  of  Cloon  to 
stand  out,  to  begin  the  building  of  their  character. 
I  saw  a  lecturer  do  it  one  time  at  Dundrum. 
"Come  up  here, "  he  said,  "Dare  to  be  a  Daniel, " 
he  said 

Hyacinth:    I  can't — I  won't 

Sergeant:  (Looking  at  papers  and  thrusting 
them  into  his  hand.}  You  will  find  it  quite  easy. 
I  will  conduct  you  to  the  platform — these  papers 
before  you  and  a  glass  of  water — That's  settled. 
(Turns  to  go.}  Follow  me  on  to  the  Courthouse 
in  half  an  hour — I  must  go  to  the  barracks  first — 
I  heard  there  was  a  telegram —  (Calls  back  as 
he  goes.}  Don't  be  late,  Mrs.  Delane.  Mind, 
Quirke,  you  promised  to  come. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Well,  it's  time  for  me  to  make 
an  end  of  settling  myself — and  indeed,  Mr. 
Quirke,  you'd  best  do  the  same. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Rubbing  his  cheek.}  I  suppose 
so.  I  had  best  keep  on  good  terms  with  him  for 
the  present.  (Turns.}  Well,  now,  I  had  a  great 
escape  this  day. 

(Both  go  in  as  Fardy  reappears  whistling.} 


Hyacinth  Halvey  61 

Hyacinth:  (Sitting  down.}  I  don't  know  in  the 
world  what  has  come  upon  the  world  that  the  half 
of  the  people  of  it  should  be  cracked ! 

Fardy:    Weren't  you  found  out  yet? 

Hyacinth:  Found  out,  is  it?  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean  by  being  found  out. 

Fardy:    Didn't  he  miss  the  sheep? 

Hyacinth:  He  did,  and  I  told  him  it  was  I 
took  it — and  what  happened  I  declare  to  good- 
ness I  don't  know —  Will  you  look  at  these? 
(Holds  out  notes.} 

Fardy:     Papers!     Are  they  more  testimonials? 

Hyacinth:  They  are  what  is  worse.  (Gives  a 
hoarse  laugh.}  Will  you  come  and  see  me  on  the 
platform — these  in  my  hand — and  I  speaking — 
giving  out  advice.  (Fardy  whistles.}  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me,  the  time  you  advised  me  to  steal  a 
sheep,  that  in  this  town  it  would  qualify  a  man 
to  go  preaching,  and  the  priest  in  the  chair  looking 
on. 

Fardy:  The  time  I  took  a  few  apples  that  had 
fallen  off  a  stall,  they  did  not  ask  me  to  hold  a 
meeting.  They  welted  me  well. 

Hyacinth:  (Looking  round.}  I  would  take  apples 
if  I  could  see  them.  I  wish  I  had  broke  my  neck 
before  I  left  Carrow  and  I'd  be  better  off!  I 
wish  I  had  got  six  months  the  time  I  was  caught 
setting  snares — I  wish  I  had  robbed  a  church. 

Fardy:    Would  a  Protestant  church  do? 


62  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Hyacinth:  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  be  so  great  a 
sin. 

Fardy:  It's  likely  the  Sergeant  would  think 
worse  of  it — Anyway,  if  you  want  to  rob  one,  it's 
the  Protestant  church  is  the  handiest. 

Hyacinth:  (Getting  up.}  Show  me  what  way  to 
doit? 

Fardy:  (Pointing.)  I  was  going  around  it  a  few 
minutes  ago,  to  see  might  there  be  e'er  a  dog 
scenting  the  sheep,  and  I  noticed  the  window  being 
out. 

Hyacinth:    Out,  out  and  out? 

Fardy:  It  was,  where  they  are  putting  coloured 
glass  in  it  for  the  distiller 

Hyacinth:    What  good  does  that  do  me? 

Fardy:  Every  good.  You  could  go  in  by  that 
window  if  you  had  some  person  to  give  you  a 
hoist.  Whatever  riches  there  is  to  get  in  it  then, 
you'll  get  them. 

Hyacinth:  I  don't  want  riches.  I'll  give  you 
all  I  will  find  if  you  will  come  and  hoist  me. 

Fardy:  Here  is  Miss  Joyce  coming  to  bring 
you  to  your  lodging.  Sure  I  brought  your  bag 
to  it,  the  time  you  were  away  with  the  sheep 

Hyacinth:    Run!  Run! 

(They  go  off.   Enter  Miss  Joyce.) 

Miss  Joyce:  Are  you  here,  Mrs.  Delane? 
Where,  can  you  tell  me,  is  Mr.  Halvey? 

Mrs.  Delane:    (Coming  out  dressed.)  It's  likely  he 


Hyacinth  Halvey  63 

is  gone  on  to  the  Courthouse.  Did  you  hear  he 
is  to  be  in  the  chair  and  to  make  an  address  to 
the  meeting? 

Miss  Joyce:  He  is  getting  on  fast.  His  Rever- 
ence says  he  will  be  a  good  help  in  the  parish. 
Who  would  think,  now,  there  would  be  such  a  godly 
young  man  in  a  little  place  like  Carrow! 

(Enter  Sergeant  in  a  hurry,  with  telegram) 

Sergeant:  What  time  did  this  telegram  arrive, 
Mrs.  Delane? 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  couldn't  be  rightly  sure,  Ser- 
geant. But  sure  it's  marked  on  it,  unless  the  clock 
I  have  is  gone  wrong. 

Sergeant:  It  is  marked  on  it.  And  I  have  the 
time  I  got  it  marked  on  my  own  watch. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Well,  now,  I  wonder  none 
of  the  police  would  have  followed  you  with  it 
from  the  barracks — and  they  with  so  little  to 

Sergeant:  (Looking  in  at  Quirke's  shop.)  Well, 
I  am  sorry  to  do  what  I  have  to  do,  but  duty  is 
duty. 

(He  ransacks  shop.     Mrs.  Delane  looks  on. 
Mr.  Quirke  puts  his  head  out  of  window.} 

Mr.  Quirke:  What  is  that  going  on  inside? 
(No  answer.}  Is  there  any  one  inside,  I  ask?  (No 
answer.}  It  must  be  that  dog  of  Tannian's — 
wait  till  I  get  at  him. 

Mrs.    Delane:     It    is    Sergeant    Garden,   Mr. 


64  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Quirke.    He  would  seem  to  be  looking'  for  some- 
thing  

(Mr.  Quirke  appears  in  shop.  Sergeant 
comes  out,  makes  another  dive,  taking 
up  sacks,  etc.} 

Mr.  Quirke:  I'm  greatly  afraid  I  am  just  out 
of  meat,  Sergeant — and  I'm  sorry  now  to  dis- 
oblige you,  and  you  not  being  in  the  habit  of 
dealing  with  me 

Sergeant:     I  should  think  not,  indeed. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Looking  for  a  tender  little  bit  of 
lamb,  I  suppose  you  are,  for  Mrs.  Garden  and 
the  youngsters? 

Sergeant:    I  am  not. 

Mr.  Quirke:  If  I  had  it  now,  I'd  be  proud  to 
offer  it  to  you,  and  make  no  charge.  I'll  be  kill- 
ing a  good  kid  to-morrow.  Mrs.  Garden  might 
fancy  a  bit  of  it 

Sergeant:  I  have  had  orders  to  search  your 
establishment  for  unwholesome  meat,  and  I  am 
come  here  to  do  it. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Sitting  down  with  a  smile.}  Is 
that  so?  Well,  isn't  it  a  wonder  the  schemers  does 
be  in  the  world. 

Sergeant:  It  is  not  the  first  time  there  have 
been  complaints. 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  suppose  not.  Well,  it  is  on 
their  own  head  it  will  fall  at  the  last! 

Sergeant:    I  have  found  nothing  so  far. 


Hyacinth  Halvey  65 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  suppose  not,  indeed.  What  is 
there  you  could  find,  and  it  not  in  it? 

Sergeant:  Have  you  no  meat  at  all  upon  the 
premises  ? 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  have,  indeed,  a  nice  barrel  of 
bacon. 

Sergeant:    What  way  did  it  die? 

Mr.  Quirke:  It  would  be  hard  for  me  to  say 
that.  American  it  is.  How  would  I  know  what 
way  they  do  be  killing  the  pigs  out  there? 
Machinery,  I  suppose,  they  have — steam  ham- 
mers— 

Sergeant:     Is  there  nothing  else  here  at  all? 

Mr.  Quirke:  I  give  you  my  word,  there  is 
no  meat  living  or  dead  in  this  place,  but  yourself 
and  myself  and  that  bird  above  in  the  cage. 

Sergeant:  Well,  I  must  tell  the  Inspector  I 
could  find  nothing.  But  mind  yourself  for  the 
future. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Thank  you,  Sergeant.  I  will  do 
that.  (Enter  Fardy.  He  stops  short.) 

Sergeant:  It  was  you  delayed  that  message  to 
me,  I  suppose?  You'd  best  mend  your  ways  or 
I'll  have  something  to  say  to  you.  (Seizes  and 
shakes  him.) 

Fardy:  That's  the  way  everyone  does  be 
faulting  me.  (Whimpers.) 

(The  Sergeant  gives  him  another  shake.    A 
half-crown  falls  out  of  his  pocket.) 


66  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Miss  Joyce:  (Picking  it  up.)  A  half-a-crown! 
Where,  now,  did  you  get  that  much,  Fardy  ? 

Fardy:    Where  did  I  get  it,  is  it ! 

Miss  Joyce:  I'll  engage  it  was  in  no  honest 
way  you  got  it. 

Fardy:    I  picked  it  up  in  the  street 

Miss  Joyce:  If  you  did,  why  didn't  you  bring 
it  to  the  Sergeant  or  to  his  Reverence  ? 

Mrs.  Delane:  And  some  poor  person,  may  be, 
being  at  the  loss  of  it. 

Miss  Joyce:  I'd  best  bring  it  to  his  Reverence. 
Come  with  me,  Fardy,  till  he  will  question  you 
about  it. 

Fardy:  It  was  not  altogether  in  the  street  I 
found  it 

Miss  Joyce:  There,  now!  I  knew  you  got  it 
in  no  good  way !  Tell  me,  now. 

Fardy:  It  was  playing  pitch  and  toss  I  won  it 

Miss  Joyce:  And  who  would  play  for  half- 
crowns  with  the  like  of  you,  Fardy  Farrell?  Who 
was  it,  now? 

Fardy:    It  was — a  stranger 

Miss  Joyce:  Do  you  hear  that?  A  stranger! 
Did  you  see  e'er  a  stranger  in  this  town,  Mrs. 
Delane,  or  Sergeant  Garden,  or  Mr.  Quirke? 

Mr.  Quirke:  Not  a  one. 

Sergeant:  There  was  no  stranger  here. 

Mrs.  Delane:  There  could  not  be  one  here 
without  me  knowing  it. 


Hyacinth  Halvey  67 

Fardy:  I  tell  you  there  was. 

Miss  Joyce:  Come  on,  then,  and  tell  who  was 
he  to  his  Reverence. 

Sergeant:  (Taking  other  arm.}     Or  to  the  bench. 

Fardy:  I  did  get  it,  I  tell  you,  from  a  stranger. 

Sergeant:  Where  is  he,  so? 

Fardy:  He's  in  some  place — not  far  away. 

Sergeant:  Bring  me  to  him. 

Fardy:  He'll  be  coming  here. 

Sergeant:  Tell  me  the  truth  and  it  will  be  better 
for  you. 

Fardy:  (Weeping.}     Let  me  go  and  I  will. 

Sergeant:  (Letting  go.}  Now — who  did  you 
get  it  from? 

Fardy:  From  that  young  chap  came  to-day, 
Mr.  Halvey. 

All:  Mr.  Halvey! 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Indignantly.)  What  are  you  say- 
ing, you  young  ruffian  you?  Hyacinth  Halvey 
to  be  playing  pitch  and  toss  with  the  like  of  you ! 

Fardy:  I  didn't  say  that. 

Miss  Joyce:  You  did  say  it.     You  said  it  now. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Hyacinth  Halvey!  The  best  man 
that  ever  came  into  this  town! 

Miss  Joyce:  Well,  what  lies  he  has! 

Mr.  Quirke:  It's  my  belief  the  half-crown  is 
a  bad  one.  May  be  it's  to  pass  it  off  it  was  given 
to  him.  There  were  tinkers  in  the  town  at  the 
time  of  the  fair.  Give  it  here  to  me.  (Bites  it.) 


68  Hyacinth  Halvey 

No,  indeed,  it's  sound  enough.    Here,  Sergeant, 
it's  best  for  you  take  it. 

(Gives  it  to  Sergeant,  who  examines  it.) 

Sergeant:  Can  it  be?  Can  it  be  what  I  think 
it  to  be? 

Mr.  Quirke:  What  is  it?  What  do  you  take 
it  to  be? 

Sergeant:  It  is,  it  is.  I  know  it.  I  know  this 
half-crown 

Mr.  Quirke:  That  is  a  queer  thing,  now. 

Sergeant:  I  know  it  well.  I  have  been  hand- 
ling it  in  the  church  for  the  last  twelvemonth 

Mr.  Quirke:  Is  that  so? 

Sergeant:  It  is  the  nest-egg  half-crown  we 
hand  round  in  the  collection  plate  every  Sunday 
morning.  I  know  it  by  the  dint  on  the  Queen's 
temples  and  the  crooked  scratch  under  her  nose. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Examining  it.)     So  there  is,  too. 

Sergeant:  This  is  a  bad  business.  It  has  been 
stolen  from  the  church. 

All:  O!O!O! 

Sergeant:  (Seizing  Fardy.)  You  have  robbed 
the  church! 

Fardy:  (Terrified.)     I  tell  you  I  never  did! 

Sergeant:  I  have  the  proof  of  it. 

Fardy:  Say  what  you  like!  I  never  put  a  foot 
in  it! 

Sergeant:  How  did  you  get  this,  so? 

Miss  Joyce:  I  suppose  from  the  stranger? 


Hyacinth  Halvey  69 

Mrs.  Delane:  I  suppose  it  was  Hyacinth  Halvey 
gave  it  to  you,  now? 

Fardy:  It  was  so. 

Sergeant:  I  suppose  it  was  he  robbed  the 
church? 

Fardy:  (Sobs.)  You  will  not  believe  me  if  I 
say  it. 

Mr.  Quirke:  O!  the  young  vagabond!  Let  me 
get  at  him! 

Mrs.  Delane:  Here  he  is  himself  now! 

(Hyacinth  comes  in.     Fardy  releases  himself 
and  creeps  behind  him.) 

Mrs.  Delane:  It  is  time  you  to  come,  Mr.  Hal- 
vey, and  shut  the  mouth  of  this  young  schemer. 

Miss  Joyce:  I  would  like  you  to  hear  what  he 
says  of  you,  Mr.  Halvey.  Pitch  and  toss,  he 
says. 

Mr.  Quirke:  Robbery,  he  says. 

Mrs.  Delane:  Robbery  of  a  church. 

Sergeant:  He  has  had  a  bad  name  long  enough. 
Let  him  go  to  a  reformatory  now. 

Fardy:  (Clinging  to  Hyacinth.)  Save  me,  save 
me!  I'm  a  poor  boy  trying  to  knock  out  a  way 
of  living;  I'll  be  destroyed  if  I  go  to  a  reforma- 
tory. (Kneels  and  clings  to  Hyacinth's  knees.) 

Hyacinth:    I'll  save  you  easy  enough. 

Fardy:    Don't  let  me  be  gaoled! 

Hyacinth:     I  am  going  to  tell  them. 

Fardy:    I'm  a  poor  orphan 


70  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Hyacinth:    Will  you  let  me  speak? 

Fardy:    I'll  get  no  more  chance  in  the  world • 

Hyacinth:     Sure  I'm  trying  to  free  you 

Fardy:    It  will  be  tasked  to  me  always. 

Hyacinth:    Be  quiet,  can't  you. 

Fardy:    Don't  you  desert  me! 

Hyacinth:    Will  you  be  silent? 

Fardy:    Take  it  on  yourself. 

Hyacinth:    I  will  if  you'll  let  me. 

Fardy:    Tell  them  you  did  it. 

Hyacinth:    I  am  going  to  do  that. 

Fardy:  Tell  them  it  was  you  got  in  at  the 
window. 

Hyacinth:    I  will!  I  will! 

Fardy:    Say  it  was  you  robbed  the  box. 

Hyacinth:    I'll  say  it!    I'll  say  it! 

Fardy:    It  being  open ! 

Hyacinth:     Let  me  tell,  let  me  tell. 

Fardy:    Of  all  that  was  in  it. 

Hyacinth:    I'll  tell  them  that. 

Fardy:    And  gave  it  to  me. 

Hyacinth:  (Putting  hand  on  his  mouth  and  drag- 
ging him  up.}  Will  you  stop  and  let  me  speak  ? 

Sergeant:  We  can't  be  wasting  time.  Give 
him  here  to  me. 

Hyacinth:  I  can't  do  that.  He  must  be  let 
alone. 

Sergeant:  (Seizing  him.)  He'll  be  let  alone  in 
the  lock-up. 


Hyacinth  Halvey  71 

Hyacinth:     He  must  not  be  brought  there. 

Sergeant:    I'll  let  no  man  get  him  off. 

Hyacinth:    I  will  get  him  off. 

Sergeant:    You  will  not ! 

Hyacinth:     I  will. 

Sergeant:    Do  you  think  to  buy  him  off? 

Hyacinth:  I  will  buy  him  off  with  my  own 
confession. 

Sergeant:    And  what  will  that  be  ? 

Hyacinth:    It  was  I  robbed  the  church. 

Sergeant:    That  is  likely  indeed ! 

Hyacinth:  Let  him  go,  and  take  me.  I  tell 
you  I  did  it. 

Sergeant:  It  would  take  witnesses  to  prove 
that. 

Hyacinth:  (Pointing  to  Fardy.}  He  will  be 
witness. 

Fardy:  O!  Mr.  Halvey,  I  would  not  wish  to 
do  that.  Get  me  off  and  I  will  say  nothing. 

Hyacinth:  Sure  you  must.  You  will  be  put 
on  oath  in  the  court. 

Fardy:  I  will  not !  I  will  not !  All  the  world 
knows  I  don't  understand  the  nature  of  an  oath! 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Coming  forward.}  Is  it  blind  ye 
all  are? 

Mrs.  Delane:    What  are  you  talking  about? 

Mr.  Quirke:    Is  it  fools  ye  all  are? 

Miss  Joyce:    Speak  for  yourself. 

Mr.  Quirke:    Is  it  idiots  ye  all  are? 


72  Hyacinth  Halvey 

Sergeant:    Mind  who  you're  talking  to. 

Mr.  Quirke:  (Seizing  Hyacinth's  hands.)  Can't 
you  see?  Can't  you  hear?  Where  are  your  wits? 
Was  ever  such  a  thing  seen  in  this  town  ? 

Mrs.  Delane:     Say  out  what  you  have  to  say. 

Mr.  Quirke:    A  walking  saint  he  is! 

Mrs.  Delane:    Maybe  so. 

Mr.  Quirke:  The  preserver  of  the  poor !  Talk 
of  the  holy  martyrs!  They  are  nothing  at  all  to 
what  he  is !  Will  you  look  at  him !  To  save  that 
poor  boy  he  is  going!  To  take  the  blame  on 
himself  he  is  going!  To  say  he  himself  did  the 
robbery  he  is  going!  Before  the  magistrate  he  is 
going!  To  gaol  he  is  going!  Taking  the  blame 
on  his  own  head!  Putting  the  sin  on  his  own 
shoulders!  Letting  on  to  have  done  a  robbery! 
Telling  a  lie — that  it  may  be  forgiven  him — to 
his  own  injury !  Doing  all  that  I  tell  you  to  save 
the  character  of  a  miserable  slack  lad,  that  rose 
in  poverty. 

(Murmur  of  admiration  from  all.) 

Mr.  Quirke:     Now,  what  do  you  say? 

Sergeant:  (Pressing  his  hand.)  Mr.  Halvey,  you 
have  given  us  all  a  lesson.  To  please  you,  I  will 
make  no  information  against  the  boy.  (Shakes 
him  and  helps  him  up.)  I  will  put  back  the  half- 
crown  in  the  poor-box  next  Sunday.  (To  Fardy.) 
What  have  you  to  say  to  your  benefactor? 

Fardy:     I'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Halvey.    You 


Hyacinth  Halvey  73  \ 


behaved  very  decent  to  me,  very  decent  indeed. 
I'll  never  let  a  word  be  said  against  you  if  I  live 
to  be  a  hundred  years. 

Sergeant:  (Wiping  eyes  with  a  blue  handkerchief.} 
I  will  tell  it  at  the  meeting.  It  will  be  a  great 
encouragement  to  them  to  build  up  their  char- 
acter. I'll  tell  it  to  the  priest  and  he  taking  the 
chair 

Hyacinth:    0  stop,  will  you 

Mr.  Quirke:  The  chair.  It's  in  the  chair  he 
himself  should  be.  It's  in  a  chair  we  will  put  him 
now.  It's  to  chair  him  through  the  streets  we  will. 
Sure  he'll  be  an  example  and  a  blessing  to  the  whole 
of  the  town.  (Seizes  Halvey  and  seats  him  in  chair.} 
Now,  Sergeant,  give  a  hand.  Here,  Fardy. 

(They  all  lift  the  chair  with  Hakey  in  it, 
wildly  protesting.} 

Mr.  Quirke:  Come  along  now  to  the  Court- 
house. Three  cheers  for  Hyacinth  Halvey !  Hip ! 
hip!  hoora! 

(Cheers  heard  in  the  distance  as  the  curtain 
drops.} 


D 


rama 


Los angeles  Cime02*         FRi.,juiY26,i957-partii  [ 


HEDDA  HOPPER 

Columnist  Escorted 
to  Ireland 


Moon,"     whi 
world  premie?: 
last  week.  Ho' 
expect  to  do  «i 
Ireland. 
DREAM  WOL 

A  4  0  -  n: 
brought  us  : 
_  House,  Cou 
where  we  we 
Sheila  Killa: 
beauty  and  t 
four  children : 


LONDON,     July     25  — 
When    John    Ford,    Lord 
Michael  Killanin,  his  asso- 
ciate   on    '-Gideon's    Day/' 
and  I  reached  the  London 
airport    for    our    trip    to 
Shannon,  I'd  forgotten  my 
passport.    Ford  exclaimed: 
"Isn  t  that  just  like  a  wom- 
an,    especially     Hopper!" 
"Don't  mind,"  I  told  him, 
"I'll  get  through,"  and  sure 
enough  I   did.    You  don't 
need  a  passport  for  such  a 
short  visit  to  Shannon.  We 
traveled   tourist  as   every- 
one does  nowadays  and  the 
first-class  passengers  who'd 
flown     in     from     Chicago 
looked   mighty   lonely   sit- 
ting  back   of  us   in   their 
ivory    tower.     A    woman 
across  the  aisle  from  me 


by  Ford 

said:  "I  know  you— you're 
Bea  Lillie."  and  I  thought 
Ford  would  die  laughing, 
although  I'm  not  sure  he 
hadn't  put  her  up  to  it. 

It  was  pouring  rain  on 
our  arrival  but  Ford  said: 
"Don't  worry,  the  sun  will 
be  out  all  the  rest  of  our 
stay  here."  Sure  enough  it 
was-  The  Irish  call  it 
"Ford's  weather."  They" 
adore  the  man  and  no  won- 
der; he  goes  from  door  to 
door  asking  about  their 
families.  They  feel  he's 
put  their  country  on  the 
map  with  "The  Quiet  Man" 
and  "The  Rising  of  the 


John1 

the  huge  cour: 
such   ease  il 
London  flat. 
River  flows 
acres  and  do 
Such  water, ; 
kiss!   When 
I  jumped  twi 
hit    a    hot 


had     its 

in  Dublin 

id  Killanin 

^o  more  in 

.D 

e  dr  i  v^e 
o  Spiddal 
•  Galway, 
greeted  by 
,  She's  a 
mother  of 
id  manages 


ord 

place  with 
night  be  a 
he  Spiddal 
•ough  their 

to  the  sea. 

as  a  baby's 
ot  into  bed 
jet;  my  feet 
iter  bottle, 


which  I  thought  was  a  cat. 
I  slept  under  three  blan- 
kets and  in  the  morning 
sure  enough  the  sun  was 
shining  through  windows 
framed  in  pale  yellow  tea 
roses. 

After  breakfast  my  tour 
started  to  Connemara,  Clif- 
den  and.Kylemore  Abbey, 
where    this    sign    used    to 
hang:  "All  donations  thank- 
fully received,  even  to  the 
petty  sum  of  half  a  crown." 
We  had  tea  at  Ashford  Cas- 
tle Hotel,  where  some  of 
"The  Quiet  Man"  was  shot 
and  when  John  wanted  ba- 
con and  eggs,  not  on  the 
menu,  he  said  to  the  sister 
who  served  us,  "Ah,  you're 
a  Sister  of  Charity  but  with- 
out mercy."   We  then  had 
another  tea  and  a  visit  with 
Canon    and    Mrs.    Dunlap, 
who  told  us  Barbara  Bel 
Geddes  had  bought  a  cot- 
tage on  Lake  Corrib,  which 
has  365  islands.    Also  that 
Barbara  Hutton  bought  one 
of    the    islands    complete 
with  cottages  for  her  fish- 
ing   and    hunting   friends. 
All  the  time  we  were  driv- 
ing Ford  was  talking  Irish 
with     the     driver    and     I 
couldn't  understand  a  word 
they  said. 
Met  Cyril  Cusack  and  his 


wife  at  dinner  that  night. 
He  is  a  fine  actor  and  had 
just  returned  from  New 
York,  where  he's  been  play- 
ing Eugene  O'Neill's  "Moon 
for  the  Misbegotten"  with 
Wendy  Miller. 
HOMESPUN 

In  Galway,  where  we 
bought  hand-knit  sweaters, 
we  learned  that  many  of 
their  weavers  had  been  laid 
off  -until  January.  This 
works  great  hardship  on 
the  women  who  weave  the 
material  in  their  own 
homes.  They  told  us  the 
layoff  was  because  during 
Ike's  pre-election  cam- 
paign in  order  to  get  the 
XCTV  England  vote  they  in- 
creased the  import  duty  on 
woolens  25%  after  a  guar- 
antee had  already  been 
reached.  And  more  than 
half  their  cloth  L  sold  in 
the  United  States.  I'm  sure 
Ike  knows  nothing  of  this 
but  he  will  if  he  reads  this 


r 


column.  We  visited  an 
abandoned  castle  owned 
by  Viscount  John  Standish 
Gort,  kntfwn  as  Gen.  "Ti- 
ger" Gort,  the  hero  of  Dun- 
kirk. It's  situated  on  a  lake 
five  miles  long  and  we 
passed  miles  and  miles  of 
stone  walls,  wild  fuchsia 
hedges  20  feet  high,  fields 
where  I  counted  20  differ- 
ent shades  of  green  and 
thatched  cottages  —  all  so 
beautiful. 

The  main  industry  is 
turf  cutting  and  the  work- 
ers get  a  pound  a  day,  $2.80 
in  our  money  The  turf  has 
to  be  handled  40  times  be- 
fore it  is  ready  to  burn  as 
fuel,  and  all  of  Ireland  is 


Vagrant  wit 
"ft'e  walked 
if  the  groui 
^lanor,  an  e 
j|cres  belongi 
4f  Dunraven, 
|er  Caroline 
day  after  w 

Beleased  by  Chicas 
Syndicate 


WEREWOLF' 

OVIE  FARE 


so- 

>gy, 

dis- 
>en- 


one 
cof- 
;ees 
\vn, 

my, 

ins. 

ilm 

day 

In- 

ave 

al- 

the 


rade,  referred  to  it  as  "the 
most  amazing  picture  of  our 


Philips)   to  seeK  aia  irom 
clinical  psychologist  working 
with  the  police. 

Prompted  by  his  girl  frien 
(Yvonne    Lime),     the    bo 
agrees  grudgingly  to  see  th 
Ph.D.  (Whit  Bissell),  who  is 
of  course,  a  standard  garde 
variety  Mad  Scientist.  Recog 
nizing  lupine  vestiges  in  th 
strong,  lanky  youth,  he  pro 
ceeds  to  "regress"  him  bac 
into  temporary  tours  of  dut; 
as   a   werewolf   —   snarling 

ilftll  0^. VM-.^    ..—  drooling,  jogging  through  th 

portrayed    by   Michael  Lan- woods  in  search  of  jugula 


While  obviously  no  com- 
ment on  that  prose  is  needed 
t  should  be  recorded  that 
someone  at  AI  has  exchanged 
a  right  idea  for  a  mess  of 
botage.  The  "werewolf"  is  a 
ligh  school  boy  (quite  wel' 


don)  whose  surly,  suspicious 
nature  and  general  emotional 
jroblems  border  on  the  para- 
loid.  After  one  brawl  too 
many,  he  is  advised  by  a  well- 


ime. 


veins  and  in  general  upset 
ting  Rockdale  no  end. 

Which  is  to  say  that,  de 
spite  rather  good  acting 
Ralph  Thornton's  dece 


lldil j  •    xi\-    JO    «-iv*  w  A»J^*%-*    " j     —  i  _  y 

meaning  policeman   (Barneyscript  and  Gene  Fowler  Jr 


• 


TONIGHT!  MAJOR  STUDIO  PREVIEW 
EGYPTIAN 


ALL  WE  CAN  DO 
IS  REPEAT  WHAT 
THOUSANDS 
US!  A 


of  us  in  their 
ivory  tower.  A  woman 
across  the  aisle  from  me 


THE  RISING  OF  THE  MOON 


75 


PERSONS 
Sergeant. 
Policeman  X. 
Policeman  B. 
A  Ragged  Man. 


THE  RISING  OF  THE  MOON 

Scene:  Side  of  a  quay  in  a  seaport  town.  Some 
posts  and  chains.  A  large  barrel.  Enter  three 
policemen.  Moonlight. 

(Sergeant,  who  is  older  than  the  others,  crosses 
the  stage  to  right  and  looks  down  steps. 
The  others  put  down  a  pastepot  and  un- 
roll a  bundle  of  placards.} 

Policeman  B:     I  think  this  would  be  a  good 
place  to  put  up  a  notice.       (He  points  to  barrel.) 
Policeman  X:     Better  ask  him.     (Calls  to  Sergt.} 
Will  this  be  a  good  place  for  a  placard? 

(No  answer.} 

Policeman  B:  Will  we  put  up  a  notice  here  on 
the  barrel?  (No  answer.} 

Sergeant:  There's  a  flight  of  steps  here  that 
leads  to  the  water.  This  is  a  place  that  should  be 
minded  well.  If  he  got  down  here,  his  friends 
might  have  a  boat  to  meet  him;  they  might  send 
it  in  here  from  outside. 

Policeman  B:  Would  the  barrel  be  a  good  place 
to  put  a  notice  up? 

Sergeant:     It  might;  you  can  put  it  there. 
(They  paste  the  notice  up.} 
77 


78          The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

Sergeant:  (Reading  it.}  Dark  hair — dark  eyes, 
smooth  face,  height  five  feet  five — there's  not  much 
to  take  hold  of  in  that — It's  a  pity  I  had  no  chance 
of  seeing  him  before  he  broke  out  of  gaol.  They 
say  he's  a  wonder,  that  it's  he  makes  all  the  plans 
for  the  whole  organization.  There  isn't  another 
man  in  Ireland  would  have  broken  gaol  the  way 
he  did.  He  must  have  some  friends  among  the 
gaolers. 

Policeman  B:  A  hundred  pounds  is  little  enough 
for  the  Government  to  offer  for  him.  You  may 
be  sure  any  man  in  the  force  that  takes  him  will  get 
promotion. 

Sergeant:  I'll  mind  this  place  myself.  I 
wouldn't  wonder  at  all  if  he  came  this  way.  He 
might  come  slipping  along  there  (points  to  side  of 
quay),  and  his  friends  might  be  waiting  for  him 
there  (points  down  steps'),  and  once  he  got  away 
it's  little  chance  we'd  have  of  finding  him;  it's 
maybe  under  a  load  of  kelp  he'd  be  in  a  fishing 
boat,  and  not  one  to  help  a  married  man  that  wants 
it  to  the  reward. 

Policeman  X:  And  if  we  get  him  itself,  nothing 
but  abuse  on  our  heads  for  it  from  the  people,  and 
maybe  from  our  own  relations. 

Sergeant:  Well,  we  have  to  do  our  duty  in  the 
force.  Haven't  we  the  whole  country  depending 
on  us  to  keep  law  and  order?  It's  those  that  are 
down  would  be  up  and  those  that  are  up  would  be 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon          79 

down,  if  it  wasn't  for  us.  Well,  hurry  on,  you  have 
plenty  of  other  places  to  placard  yet,  and  come 
back  here  then  to  me.  You  can  take  the  lantern. 
Don't  be  too  long  now.  It's  very  lonesome  here 
with  nothing  but  the  moon. 

Policeman  B:     It's  a  pity  we  can't  stop  with 

you.     The    Government    should    have    brought 

more  police  into  the  town,  with  him  in  gaol,  and  at 

assize  time  too.     Well,  good  luck  to  your  watch. 

(They  go  out.} 

Sergeant:  (Walks  up  and  down  once  or  twice  and 
looks  at  placard.}  A  hundred  pounds  and  pro- 
motion sure.  There  must  be  a  great  deal  of 
spending  in  a  hundred  pounds.  It's  a  pity  some 
honest  man  not  to  be  the  better  of  that. 

(A  ragged  man  appears  at  left  and  tries  to 
slip  past.     Sergeant  suddenly  turns.} 

Sergeant:    Where  are  you  going  ? 

Man:  I'm  a  poor  ballad-singer,  your  honour. 
I  thought  to  sell  some  of  these  (holds  out  bundle 
of  ballads}  to  the  sailors.  (He  goes  on} 

Sergeant:  Stop!  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  stop? 
You  can't  go  on  there. 

Man:  Oh,  very  well.  It's  a  hard  thing  to  be 
poor.  All  the  world's  against  the  poor! 

Sergeant:    Who  are  you? 

Man:  You'd  be  as  wise  as  myself  if  I  told  you, 
but  I  don't  mind.  I'm  one  Jimmy  Walsh,  a 
ballad-singer. 


8o          The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

Sergeant:  Jimmy  Walsh?  I  don't  know  that 
name. 

Man:  Ah,  sure,  they  know  it  well  enough  in 
Ennis.  Were  you  ever  in  Ennis,  sergeant? 

Sergeant:    What  brought  you  here? 

Man:  Sure,  it's  to  the  assizes  I  came,  thinking 
I  might  make  a  few  shillings  here  or  there.  It's 
in  the  one  train  with  the  judges  I  came. 

Sergeant:  Well,  if  you  came  so  far,  you  may  as 
well  go  farther,  for  you'll  walk  out  of  this. 

Man:  I  will,  I  will;  I'll  just  go  on  where  I  was 
going.  (Goes  towards  steps.) 

Sergeant:  Come  back  from  those  steps;  no 
one  has  leave  to  pass  down  them  to-night. 

Man:  I'll  just  sit  on  the  top  of  the  steps  till 
I  see  will  some  sailor  buy  a  ballad  off  me  that 
would  give  me  my  supper.  They  do  be  late  going 
back  to  the  ship.  It's  often  I  saw  them  in  Cork 
carried  down  the  quay  in  a  hand-cart. 

Sergeant:  Move  on,  I  tell  you.  I  won't  have 
any  one  lingering  about  the  quay  to-night. 

Man:  Well,  I'll  go.  It's  the  poor  have  the 
hard  life!  Maybe  yourself  might  like  one,  ser- 
geant. Here's  a  good  sheet  now.  (Turns  one 
over.)  "Content  and  a  pipe" — that's  not  much. 
"The  Peeler  and  the  goat" — you  wouldn't  like 
that.  "Johnny  Hart" — that's  a  lovely  song. 

Sergeant:    Move  on. 

Man:    Ah,  wait  till  you  hear  it.     (Sings:) 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon          81 

There  was  a  rich  farmer's  daughter  lived  near 

the  town  of  Ross; 
She  courted  a  Highland  soldier,  his  name  was 

Johnny  Hart ; 

Says  the  mother  to  her  daughter,  "I'll  go  dis- 
tracted mad 
If  you  marry  that  Highland  soldier  dressed 

up  in  Highland  plaid." 
Sergeant:    Stop  that  noise. 

(Man  wraps  up  his  ballads  and  shuffles  to- 
wards the  steps.) 

Sergeant:    Where  are  you  going  ? 
Man:     Sure  you  told  me  to  be  going,  and  I 
am  going. 

Sergeant:     Don't  be  a  fool.     I  didn't  tell  you 
to  go  that  way ;  I  told  you  to  go  back  to  the  town. 
Man:    Back  to  the  town,  is  it? 
Sergeant:     (Taking  him  by  the  shoulder  and  shov- 
ing him  before  him.}     Here,  I'll  show  you  the  way. 
Be  off  with  you.     What  are  you  stopping  for? 

Man:  (Who  has  been  keeping  his  eye  on  the  notice, 
points  to  it.)  I  think  I  know  what  you're  waiting 
for,  sergeant. 

Sergeant:    What's  that  to  you? 
Man:     And  I  know  well  the  man  you're  waiting 
for — I  know  him  well — I'll  be  going. 

(He  shuffles  on.) 

Sergeant:  You  know  him?  Come  back  here. 
What  sort  is  he? 

6 


82  The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

Man:  Come  back  is  it,  sergeant?  Do  you 
want  to  have  me  killed? 

Sergeant:     Why  do  you  say  that? 

Man:  Never  mind.  I'm  going.  I  wouldn't 
be  in  your  shoes  if  the  reward  was  ten  times  as 
much.  (Goes  on  off  stage  to  left}.  Not  if  it  was 
ten  times  as  much. 

Sergeant:  (Rushing  after  him.}  Come  back 
here,  come  back.  (Drags  him  back.}  What  sort 
is  he  ?  Where  did  you  see  him  ? 

Man:  I  saw  him  in  my  own  place,  in  the 
County  Clare.  I  tell  you  you  wouldn't  like  to 
be  looking  at  him.  You'd  be  afraid  to  be  in  the 
one  place  with  him.  There  isn't  a  weapon  he 
doesn't  know  the  use  of,  and  as  to  strength,  his 
muscles  are  as  hard  as  that  board  (slaps  barrel}. 

Sergeant:     Is  he  as  bad  as  that? 

Man:    He  is  then. 

Sergeant:    Do  you  tell  me  so? 

Man:  There  was  a  poor  man  in  our  place,  a 
sergeant  from  Ballyvaughan. — It  was  with  a 
lump  of  stone  he  did  it. 

Sergeant:    I  never  heard  of  that. 

Man:  And  you  wouldn't,  sergeant.  It's  not 
everything  that  happens  gets  into  the  papers. 
And  there  was  a  policeman  in  plain  clothes,  too 
...  It  is  in  Limerick  he  was.  ...  It  was 
after  the  time  of  the  attack  on  the  police  barrack 
at  Kilmallock.  .  .  .  Moonlight  .  .  .  just  like 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon  83 

this  .  .  .  waterside.  .  .  .  Nothing  was  known 
for  certain. 

Sergeant:  Do  you  say  so?  It's  a  terrible 
county  to  belong  to. 

Man:  That's  so,  indeed !  You  might  be  stand- 
ing there,  looking  out  that  way,  thinking  you  saw 
him  coming  up  this  side  of  the  quay  (points),  and 
he  might  be  coming  up  this  other  side  (points} ,  and 
he'd  be  on  you  before  you  knew  where  you  were. 

Sergeant:  It's  a  whole  troop  of  police  they 
ought  to  put  here  to  stop  a  man  like  that. 

Man:  But  if  you'd  like  me  to  stop  with  you,  I 
could  be  looking  down  this  side.  I  could  be  sitting 
up  here  on  this  barrel. 

Sergeant:    And  you  know  him  well,  too? 

Man:     I'd  know  him  a  mile  off,  sergeant. 

Sergeant:  But  you  wouldn't  want  to  share  the 
reward? 

Man:  Is  it  a  poor  man  like  me,  that  has  to  be 
going  the  roads  and  singing  in  fairs,  to  have  the 
name  on  him  that  he  took  a  reward?  But  you 
don't  want  me.  I'll  be  safer  in  the  town. 

Sergeant:    Well,  you  can  stop. 

Man:  (Getting  up  on  barrel.}  All  right,  sergeant. 
I  wonder,  now,  you're  not  tired  out,  sergeant, 
walking  up  and  down  the  way  you  are. 

Sergeant:    If  I'm  tired  I'm  used  to  it. 

Man:  You  might  have  hard  work  before  you 
to-night  yet.  Take  it  easy  while  you  can.  There's 


84  The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

plenty  of  room  up  here  on  the  barrel,  and  you  see 
farther  when  you're  higher  up. 

Sergeant:  Maybe  so.  (Gets  up  beside  him  on 
barrel,  facing  right.  They  sit  back  to  back,  looking 
different  ways.)  You  made  me  feel  a  bit  queer 
with  the  way  you  talked. 

Man:  Give  me  a  match,  sergeant  (lie  gives  it 
and  man  lights  pipe) ;  take  a  draw  yourself?  It'll 
quiet  you.  Wait  now  till  I  give  you  a  light,  but 
you  needn't  turn  round.  Don't  take  your  eye 
off  the  quay  for  the  life  of  you. 

Sergeant:  Never  fear,  I  won't.  (Lights  pipe. 
They  both  smoke.)  Indeed  it's  a  hard  thing  to  be 
in  the  force,  out  at  night  and  no  thanks  for  it,  for 
all  the  danger  we're  in.  And  it's  little  we  get  but 
abuse  from  the  people,  and  no  choice  but  to  obey 
our  orders,  and  never  asked  when  a  man  is  sent 
into  danger,  if  you  are  a  married  man  with  a  family. 
Man:  (Sings) — 

As  through  the  hills  I  walked  to  view  the  hills 

and  shamrock  plain, 
I  stood  awhile  where  nature  smiles  to  view  the 

rocks  and  streams, 
On  a  matron  fair  I  fixed  my  eyes  beneath  a 

fertile  vale, 
As  she  sang  her  song  it  was  on  the  wrong  of 

poor  old  Granuaile. 

Sergeant:  Stop  that;  that's  no  song  to  be 
singing  in  these  times. 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon  85 

Man:  Ah,  sergeant,  I  was  only  singing  to  keep 
my  heart  up.  It  sinks  when  I  think  of  him.  To 
think  of  us  two  sitting  here,  and  he  creeping  up  the 
quay,  maybe,  to  get  to  us. 

Sergeant:  Are  you  keeping  a  good  lookout? 
Man:  I  am;  and  for  no  reward  too.  Amn't 
I  the  foolish  man?  But  when  I  saw  a  man  in 
trouble,  I  never  could  help  trying  to  get  him 
out  of  it.  What's  that?  Did  something  hit 
me? 

(Rubs  his  heart.} 

Sergeant:  (Patting  him  on  the  shoulder.}  You 
will  get  your  reward  in  heaven. 

Man:  I  know  that,  I  know  that,  sergeant,  but 
life  is  precious. 

Sergeant:     Well,  you  can  sing  if  it  gives  you 
more  courage. 
Man:     (Sings) — 

Her  head  was  bare,  her  hands  and  feet  with 

iron  bands  were  bound, 
Her  pensive  strain  and  plaintive  wail  mingles 

with  the  evening  gale, 
And  the  song  she  sang  with  mournful  air,  I  am 

old  Granuaile. 

Her  lips  so  sweet  that  monarchs  kissed   .    .    . 
Sergeant:     That's  not  it.    ...     "Her  gown 
she  wore  was  stained  with  gore. "...     That's 
it — you  missed  that. 

Man:     You're  right,  sergeant,  so  it  is;  I  missed 


86          The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

it.  (Repeats  line.)  But  to  think  of  a  man  like 
you  knowing  a  song  like  that. 

Sergeant:  There's  many  a  thing  a  man  might 
know  and  might  not  have  any  wish  for. 

Man:  Now,  I  daresay,  sergeant,  in  your  youth, 
you  used  to  be  sitting  up  on  a  wall,  the  way  you  are 
sitting  up  on  this  barrel  now,  and  the  other  lads  be- 
side you,  and  you  singing  "Granuaile"?  .  .  . 

Sergeant:    I  did  then. 

Man:     And  the  "Shan  Bhean  Bhocht"?  .    .    . 

Sergeant:    I  did  then. 

Man:    And  the  "  Green  on  the  Cape  ?" 

Sergeant:    That  was  one  of  them. 

Man:  And  maybe  the  man  you  are  watching 
for  to-night  used  to  be  sitting  on  the  wall,  when 
he  was  young,  and  singing  those  same  songs.  .  .  . 
It's  a  queer  world .... 

Sergeant:  Whisht !  .  .  .  I  think  I  see  some- 
thing coming.  .  .  .  It's  only  a  dog. 

Man:  And  isn't  it  a  queer  world?  .  .  . 
Maybe  it's  one  of  the  boys  you  used  to  be  singing 
with  that  time  you  will  be  arresting  to-day  or  to- 
morrow, and  sending  into  the  dock.  .  .  . 

Sergeant:    That's  true  indeed. 

Man:  And  maybe  one  night,  after  you  had 
been  singing,  if  the  other  boys  had  told  you  some 
plan  they  had,  some  plan  to  free  the  country,  you 
might  have  joined  with  them  .  .  .  and  maybe 
it  is  you  might  be  in  trouble  now. 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon          87 

Sergeant:  Well,  who  knows  but  I  might?  I 
had  a  great  spirit  in  those  days. 

Man:  It's  a  queer  world,  sergeant,  and  it's 
little  any  mother  knows  when  she  sees  her  child 
creeping  on  the  floor  what  might  happen  to  it 
before  it  has  gone  through  its  life,  or  who  will  be 
who  in  the  end. 

Sergeant:  That's  a  queer  thought  now,  and  a 
true  thought.  Wait  now  till  I  think  it  out .... 
If  it  wasn't  for  the  sense  I  have,  and  for  my  wife 
and  family,  and  for  me  joining  the  force  the  time 
I  did,  it  might  be  myself  now  would  be  after 
breaking  gaol  and  hiding  in  the  dark,  and  it  might 
be  him  that's  hiding  in  the  dark  and  that  got  out  of 
gaol  would  be  sitting  up  where  I  am  on  this  barrel. 
.  .  .  And  it  might  be  myself  would  be  creeping 
up  trying  to  make  my  escape  from  himself,  and 
it  might  be  himself  would  be  keeping  the  law,  and 
myself  would  be  breaking  it,  and  myself  would  be 
trying  maybe  to  put  a  bullet  in  his  head,  or  to  take 
up  a  lump  of  a  stone  the  way  you  said  he  did  .  .  . 
no,  that  myself  did.  .  .  .  Oh!  (Gasps.  After  a 
pause.}  What's  that?  (Grasps  man's  arm.) 

Man:  (Jumps  off  barrel  and  listens,  looking  out 
over  water.}  It's  nothing,  sergeant. 

Sergeant:  I  thought  it  might  be  a  boat.  I  had 
a  notion  there  might  be  friends  of  his  coming 
about  the  quays  with  a  boat. 

Man:     Sergeant,  I  am  thinking  it  was  with  the 


88  The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

people  you  were,  and  not  with  the  law  you  were, 
when  you  were  a  young  man. 

Sergeant:  Well,  if  I  was  foolish  then,  that 
time's  gone. 

Man:  Maybe,  sergeant,  it  comes  into  your 
head  sometimes,  in  spite  of  your  belt  and  your 
tunic,  that  it  might  have  been  as  well  for  you  to 
have  followed  Granuaile. 

Sergeant:    It's  no  business  of  yours  what  I  think. 
Man:     Maybe,  sergeant,  you'll  be  on  the  side  of 
the  country  yet. 

Sergeant:  (Gets  off  barrel.)  Don't  talk  to  me 
like  that.  I  have  my  duties  and  I  know  them. 
(Looks  round.)  That  was  a  boat ;  I  hear  the  oars. 

(Goes  to  the  steps  and  looks  down.) 
Man:     (Sings) — 

O,  then,  tell  me,  Shawn  O'Farrell, 

Where  the  gathering  is  to  be. 
In  the  old  spot  by  the  river 

Right  well  known  to  you  and  me! 
Sergeant:     Stop  that!    Stop  that,  I  tell  you! 
Man:     (Sings  louder) — 

One  word  more,  for  signal  token, 
Whistle  up  the  marching  tune, 
With  your  pike  upon  your  shoulder, 

At  the  Rising  of  the  Moon. 
Sergeant:     If  you  don't  stop  that,  I'll  arrest  you. 
(A  whistle  from  below  answers,  repeating  the 
air.) 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon  89 

Sergeant:  That's  a  signal.  (Stands  between  him 
and  steps.)  You  must  not  pass  this  way.  .  .  . 
Step  farther  back.  .  .  .  Who  are  you?  You 
are  no  ballad-singer. 

Man:  You  needn't  ask  who  I  am;  that  placard 
will  tell  you.  (Points  to  placard.) 

Sergeant:  You  are  the  man  I  am  looking 
for. 

Man:  (Takes  off  hat  and  wig.  Sergeant  seizes 
them.)  I  am.  There's  a  hundred  pounds  on  my 
head.  There  is  a  friend  of  mine  below  in  a  boat. 
He  knows  a  safe  place  to  bring  me  to. 

Sergeant:  (Looking  still  at  hat  and  wig.)  It's  a 
pity!  It's  a  pity.  You  deceived  me.  You  de- 
ceived me  well. 

Man:  I  am  a  friend  of  Granuaile.  There  is 
a  hundred  pounds  on  my  head. 

Sergeant      It's  a  pity,  it's  a  pity! 

Man:  Will  you  let  me  pass,  or  must  I  make  you 
let  me? 

Sergeant:  I  am  in  the  force.  I  will  not  let  you 
pass. 

Man:  I  thought  to  do  it  with  my  tongue.  (Puts 
hand  in  breast.)  What  is  that? 

(Voice  of  Policeman  X  outside:)  Here,  this  is 
where  we  left  him. 

Sergeant:    It's  my  comrades  coming. 

Man:  You  won't  betray  me  .  .  .  the  friend 
of  Granuaile.  (Slips  behind  barrel.) 


90  The  Rising  of  the  Moon 

( Voice  of  Policeman  B :)  That  was  the  last  of  the 
placards. 

Policeman  X:  (As  they  come  in.)  If  he  makes 
his  escape  it  won't  be  unknown  he'll  make  it. 

(Sergeant  puts  hat  and  wig  behind  his  back.) 

Policeman  B:     Did  any  one  come  this  way? 

Sergeant:     (After  a  pause.)     No  one. 

Policeman  B:    No  one  at  all  ? 

Sergeant:    No  one  at  all. 

Policeman  B:  We  had  no  orders  to  go  back  to 
the  station ;  we  can  stop  along  with  you. 

Sergeant:  I  don't  want  you.  There  is  nothing 
for  you  to  do  here. 

Policeman  B:  You  bade  us  to  come  back  here 
and  keep  watch  with  you. 

Sergeant:  I'd  sooner  be  alone.  Would  any 
man  come  this  way  and  you  making  all  that 
talk?  It  is  better  the  place  to  be  quiet. 

Policeman  B:  Well,  we'll  leave  you  the  lantern 
anyhow.  (Hands  it  to  him.) 

Sergeant:     I  don't  want  it.     Bring  it  with  you. 

Policeman  B:  You  might  want  it.  There  are 
clouds  coming  up  and  you  have  the  darkness  of 
the  night  before  you  yet.  I'll  leave  it  over  here 
on  the  barrel.  (Goes  to  barrel.) 

Sergeant:  Bring  it  with  you  I  tell  you.  No 
more  talk. 

Policeman  B:  Well,  I  thought  it  might  be  a 
comfort  to  you.  I  often  think  when  I  have  it  in 


The  Rising  of  the  Moon          91 

my  hand  and  can  be  flashing  it  about  into  every 
dark  corner  (doing  so)  that  it's  the  same  as  being 
beside  the  fire  at  home,  and  the  bits  of  bogwood 
blazing  up  now  and  again. 

(Flashes  it  about,  now  on  the  barrel,  now  on 

Sergeant.} 

Sergeant:  (Furious.}  Be  off  the  two  of  you, 
yourselves  and  your  lantern ! 

(They  go  out.  Man  comes  from  behind  bar- 
rel. He  and  Sergeant  stand  looking  at 
one  another.} 

Sergeant:    What  are  you  waiting  for? 
Man:     For  my  hat,  of  course,  and  my  wig. 
You  wouldn't  wish  me  to  get  my  death  of  cold? 

(Sergeant  gives  them.} 

Man:  (Going  towards  steps.}  Well,  good-night, 
comrade,  and  thank  you.  You  did  me  a  good 
turn  to-night,  and  I'm  obliged  to  you.  Maybe 
I'll  be  able  to  do  as  much  for  you  when  the  small 
rise  up  and  the  big  fall  down  .  .  .  when  we  all 
change  places  at  the  Rising  (waves  his  hand  and 
disappears}  of  the  Moon. 

Sergeant:  (Turning  his  back  to  audience  and 
reading  placard.}  A  hundred  pounds  reward! 
A  hundred  pounds!  (Turns  towards  audience.} 
I  wonder,  now,  am  I  as  great  a  fool  as  I  think 
I  am? 

Curtain, 


THE  JACKDAW 


PERSONS 

JOSEPH  NESTOR  An  Army  Pensioner. 

MICHAEL  COONEY  A  Farmer. 

MRS.  BRODERICK  A  Small  Shopkeeper, 

TOMMY  NALLY  A  Pauper. 

SIBBY  FAHY  An  Orange  Seller. 

TIMOTHY  WARD  A  Process  Server. 


THE  JACKDAW 

Scene:  Interior  of  a  small  general  shop  at  Cloon. 
Mrs.  Broderick  sitting  down.  Tommy  Natty 
sitting  eating  an  orange  Sibby  has  given  him. 
Sibby,  with  basket  on  her  arm,  is  looking  out  oj 
door. 

Sibby:  The  people  are  gathering  to  the  door 
of  the  Court.  The  Magistrates  will  be  coming 
there  before  long.  Here  is  Timothy  Ward  coming 
up  the  street. 

Timothy  Ward:  (Coming  to  door.}  Did  you  get 
that  summons  I  left  here  for  you  ere  yesterday, 
Mrs.  Broderick? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  believe  it's  there  in  under  the 
canister.  (Takes  it  out.}  It  had  my  mind  tossed 
looking  at  it  there  before  me.  I  know  well  what 
is  in  it  if  I  made  no  fist  of  reading  it  itself.  It's 
no  wonder  with  all  I  had  to  go  through  if  the  read- 
ing and  writing  got  scattered  on  me. 

Ward:  You  know  it  is  on  this  day  you  have 
to  appear  in  the  Court  ? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  It  isn't  easy  forget  that, 
though  indeed  it  is  hard  for  me  to  be  keeping 
anything  in  my  head  these  times,  but  maybe 

95 


96  The  Jackdaw 

remembering  to-morrow  the  thing  I  was  saying 
to-day. 

Ward:  Up  to  one  o'clock  the  magistrates  will 
be  able  to  attend  to  you,  ma'am,  before  they  will 
go  out  eating  their  meal. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Haven't  I  the  mean,  begrudging 
creditors  now  that  would  put  me  into  the  Court? 
Sure  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  go  in  it  and  to  be 
bound  to  speak  nothing  but  the  truth.  When 
people  would  meet  with  you  after,  they  would  re- 
member your  face  in  the  Court.  What  way  would 
they  be  certain  was  it  in  or  outside  of  the  dock  ? 

Ward:  It  is  not  in  the  dock  you  will  be  put 
this  time.  And  there  will  be  no  bodily  harm  done 
to  you,  but  to  seize  your  furniture  and  your  goods. 
It's  best  for  me  to  be  going  there  myself  and  not 
to  be  wasting  my  time.  (Goes  out.) 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Many  a  one  taking  my  goods 
on  credit  and  I  seeing  their  face  no  more.  But 
nothing  would  satisfy  the  people  of  this  district. 
Sure  the  great  God  Himself  when  He  came  down 
couldn't  please  everybody. 

Sibby:  I  am  thinking  you  were  talking  of 
some  friend,  ma'am,  might  be  apt  to  be  coming 
to  your  aid. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Well  able  he  is  to  do  it  if  the 
Lord  would  but  put  it  in  his  mind.  Isn't  it  a 
strange  thing  the  goods  of  this  world  to  shut  up 
the  heart  of  a  brother  from  his  own,  the  same  as 


The  Jackdaw  97 

Esau  and  Jacob,  and  he  having  a  good  farm  of  land 
in  the  County  Limerick.  It  is  what  I  heard  that 
in  that  place  the  grass  does  be  as  thick  as  grease. 

Sibby:  I  suppose,  ma'am,  you  wrote  giving  him 
an  account  of  your  case? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Sure,  Mr.  Nestor,  the  dear 
man,  has  his  fingers  wore  away  writing  for  me,  and 
I  telling  him  all  he  had  or  had  not  to  say.  At 
Christmas  I  wrote,  and  at  Little  Christmas,  and 
at  St.  Brigit's  Day,  and  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Patrick, 
and  after  that  again  such  time  as  I  had  news  of  the 
summons  being  about  to  be  served.  And  you  may 
ask  Mrs.  Delane  at  the  Post  Office  am  I  telling  any 
lie  saying  I  got  no  word  or  answer  at  all.  .  .  . 
It's  long  since  I  saw  him,  but  it  is  the  way  he  used 
to  be,  his  eyes  on  kippeens  and  some  way  suspi- 
cious in  his  heart ;  a  dark  weighty  tempered  man. 

Sibby:  A  person  to  be  crabbed  and  he  young, 
it  is  not  likely  he  will  grow  kind  at  the  latter  end. 

Tommy  Natty:  That  is  no  less  than  true  now. 
There  are  crabbed  people  and  suspicious  people 
to  be  met  with  in  every  place.  It  is  much  that 
I  got  a  pass  from  the  Workhouse  this  day,  the 
Master  making  sure  when  I  asked  it  that  I  had  in 
my  pocket  the  means  of  getting  drink. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  It  would  maybe  be  best  to 
go  join  you  in  the  Workhouse,  Tommy  Nally, 
when  I  am  out  of  this,  than  to  go  walking  the 
world  from  end  to  end. 


98  The  Jackdaw 

Tcfnmy  Natty:  Ah,  don't  be  saying  that, 
ma'am;  sure  you  couldn't  be  happy  within  those 
walls  if  you  had  the  whole  world.  Clean  outside, 
but  very  hard  within.  No  rank  but  all  mixed  to- 
gether, the  good,  the  middling  and  the  bad,  the 
well  reared  and  the  rough. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Sure  I'm  not  asking  to  go  in 
it.  You  could  never  be  as  stiff  in  any  place  as  in 
any  sort  of  little  cabin  of  your  own. 

Tommy  Nally:  The  tea  boiled  in  a  boiler,  you 
should  close  your  eyes  drinking  it,  and  ne'er  a 
bit  of  sugar  hardly  in  it  at  all.  And  our  curses 
on  them  that  boil  the  eggs  too  hard!  What  use 
is  an  egg  that  is  hard  to  any  person  on  earth? 
And  as  to  the  dinner,  what  way  would  a  tasty 
person  eat  it  not  having  a  knife  or  a  fork  ? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  That  I  may  live  to  be  in  no 
one's  way,  but  to  have  some  little  corner  of  my 
own! 

Tommy  Nally:  And  to  come  to  your  end  in  it, 
ma'am!  If  you  were  the  Lady  Mayor  herself 
you'd  be  brought  out  to  the  deadhouse  if  it  was 
ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  not  a  wash  unless  it  was 
just  a  Scotch  lick,  and  nobody  to  wake  you  at  all ! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  will  not  go  in  it!  I  would 
sooner  make  any  shift  and  die  by  the  side  of  the 
wall.  Sure  heaven  is  the  best  place,  heaven  and 
this  world  we're  in  now! 

Sibby:    Don't  be  giving  up  now,  ma'am.     Here 


The  Jackdaw  99 

is  Mr.  Nestor  coming,  and  if  any  one  will  give 
you  an  advice  he  is  the  one  will  do  it.  Why 
wouldn't  he,  he  being,  as  he  is,  an  educated  man, 
and  such  a  great  one  to  be  reading  books. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  So  he  is  too,  and  keeps  it  in 
his  mind  after.  It's  a  wonder  to  me  a  man  that 
does  be  reading  to  keep  any  memory  at  all. 

Nolly:  It's  easy  for  him  to  carry  things  light, 
and  his  pension  paid  regular  at  springtime  and 
harvest. 

(Nestor  comes  in  reading  "Tit-Bits. ") 

Nestor:  There  was  a  servant  girl  in  Austria 
cut  off  her  finger  slicing  cabbage.  .  .  . 

A II:    The  poor  thing ! 

Nestor:  And  her  master  stuck  it  on  again  with 
glue.  That  now  was  a  very  foolish  thing  to  do. 
What  use  would  a  finger  be  stuck  with  glue  that 
might  melt  off  at  any  time,  and  she  to  be  stirring 
the  pot? 

Sibby:    That  is  true  indeed. 

Nestor:  Now,  if  I  myself  had  been  there,  it  is 
what  I  would  have  advised  .  .  . 

Sibby:  That's  what  I  was  saying,  Mr.  Nestor- 
It  is  you  are  the  grand  adviser.  What  now  will 
you  say  to  poor  Mrs.  Broderick  that  has  a  sum- 
mons out  against  her  this  day  for  up  to  ten  pounds? 

Nestor:  It  is  what  I  am  often  saying,  it  is  a 
very  foolish  thing  to  be  getting  into  debt. 

Mrs.  Broderick:     Sure  what  way  could  I  help 


ioo  The  Jackdaw 

it?    It's  a  very  done-up  town  to  be  striving  to 
make  a  living  in. 

Nestor:  It  would  be  a  right  thing  to  be 
showing  a  good  example. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  They  would  want  that  indeed. 
There  are  more  die  with  debts  on  them  in  this 
place  than  die  free  from  debt. 

Nestor:  Many  a  poor  soul  has  had  to  suffer 
from  the  weight  of  the  debts  on  him,  finding  no 
rest  or  peace  after  death. 

Sibby:  The  Magistrates  are  gone  into  the 
Courthouse,  Mrs.  Broderick.  Why  now  wouldn't 
you  go  up  to  the  bank  and  ask  would  the  manager 
advance  you  a  loan? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  It  is  likely  he  would  not  do  it. 
But  maybe  it's  as  good  for  me  go  as  to  be  sitting 
here  waiting  for  the  end. 

(Puts  on  hat  and  shawl.} 

Nestor:  I  now  will  take  charge  of  the  shop  for 
you,  Mrs.  Broderick. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  It's  little  call  there'll  be  to 
it.  The  time  a  person  is  sunk  that's  the  time 
the  custom  will  go  from  her.  (She  goes  out.) 

Natty:  I'll  be  taking  a  ramble  into  the  Court 
to  see  what  are  the  lads  doing.  (Goes  out.) 

Sibby:  (Following  them.)  I  might  chance  some 
customers  there  myself. 

(Goes  out  calling — oranges,  good  oranges.) 

Nestor:   (Taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  sitting 


The  Jackdaw  101 

down,  and  beginning  to  read.}  "Romantic  elope- 
ment in  high  life.  A  young  lady  at  Aberdeen, 
Missouri,  U.S.A.,  having  been  left  by  her  father 
an  immense  fortune  .  .  .  " 

(Stops  to  wipe  his  spectacles,  puts  them  on 
again  and  looks  for  place,  which  he  has 
lost.  Cooney  puts  his  head  in  at  door 
and  draws  it  out  again.) 

Nestor:    Come  in,  come  in! 

Cooney:  (Coming  in  cautiously  and  looking  round.) 
Whose  house  now  might  this  be? 

Nestor:  To  the  Widow  Broderick  it  belongs. 
She  is  out  in  the  town  presently. 

Cooney:     I  saw  her  name  up  over  the  door. 

Nestor:  On  business  of  her  own  she  is  gone. 
It  is  I  am  minding  the  place  for  her. 

Cooney:  So  I  see.  I  suppose  now  you  have 
good  cause  to  be  minding  it  ? 

Nestor:  It  would  be  a  pity  any  of  her  goods 
to  go  to  loss. 

Cooney:  I  suppose  so.  Is  it  to  auction  them 
you  will  or  to  sell  them  in  bulk  ? 

Nestor:  Not  at  all.  I  can  sell  you  any  article 
you  will  require. 

Cooney:  It  would  be  no  profit  to  herself  now, 
I  suppose,  if  you  did? 

Nestor:  What  do  you  mean  saying  that  ?  Do 
you  think  I  would  defraud  her  from  her  due  in 
anything  I  would  sell  for  her  at  all  ? 


102  The  Jackdaw 

Cooney:    You  are  not  the  bailiff  so? 

Nestor:  Not  at  all.  I  wonder  any  person  to 
take  me  for  a  bailiff ! 

Cooney:     You  are  maybe  one  of  the  creditors  ? 

Nestor:  I  am  not.  I  am  not  a  man  to  have  a 
debt  upon  me  to  any  person  on  earth. 

Cooney:  I  wonder  what  it  is  you  are  at  so, 
if  you  have  no  claim  on  the  goods.  Is  it  any 
harm  now  to  ask  what's  this  your  name  is? 

Nestor:  One  Joseph  Nestor  I  am,  there  are 
few  in  the  district  but  know  me.  Indeed  they 
all  have  a  great  opinion  of  me.  Travelled  I  did 
in  the  army,  and  attended  school  and  I  young, 
and  slept  in  the  one  bed  with  two  boys  that  were 
learning  Greek. 

Cooney:  What  way  now  can  I  be  rightly  sure 
that  you  are  Joseph  Nestor? 

Nestor:  (Pulling  out  envelope.}  There  is  my 
pension  docket.  You  will  maybe  believe  that. 

Cooney:  (Examining  it.}  I  suppose  you  may  be 
him  so.  I  saw  your  name  often  before  this. 

Nestor:  Did  you  now?  I  suppose  it  may  have 
travelled  a  good  distance. 

Cooney:  It  travelled  as  far  as  myself  anyway 
at  the  bottom  of  letters  that  were  written  asking 
relief  for  the  owner  of  this  house. 

Nestor:  I  suppose  you  are  her  brother  so, 
Michael  Cooney  ? 

Cooney:    If  I  am,  there  are  some  questions  that 


The  Jackdaw  103 

I  want  to  put  and  to  get  answers  to  before  my 
mind  will  be  satisfied.  Tell  me  this  now.  Is  it  a 
fact  Mary  Broderick  to  be  living  at  all? 

Nestor:  What  would  make  you  think  her  not 
to  be  living  and  she  sending  letters  to  you  through 
the  post  ? 

Cooney:  I  was  saying  to  myself  with  myself, 
there  was  maybe  some  other  one  personating  her 
and  asking  me  to  send  relief  for  their  own  ends. 

Nestor:  I  am  in  no  want  of  any  relief.  That  is 
a  queer  thing  to  say  and  a  very  queer  thing. 
There  are  many  worse  off  than  myself,  the  Lord 
be  praised ! 

Cooney:  Don't  be  so  quick  now  starting  up  to 
take  offence.  It  is  hard  to  believe  the  half  the 
things  you  hear  or  that  will  be  told  to  you. 

Nestor:  That  may  be  so  indeed;  unless  it  is 
things  that  would  be  printed  on  the  papers.  But 
I  would  think  you  might  trust  one  of  your  own 
blood. 

Cooney:  I  might  or  I  might  not.  I  had  it  in 
my  mind  this  long  time  to  come  hither  and  to 
look  around  for  myself.  There  are  seven  genera- 
tions of  the  Cooneys  trusted  nobody  living  or 
dead. 

Nestor:  Indeed  I  was  reading  in  some  history 
of  one  Ulysses  that  came  back  from  a  journey 
and  sent  no  word  before  him  but  slipped  in  un- 
known to  all  but  the  house  dog  to  see  was  his  wife 


IO4  The  Jackdaw 

minding  the  place,  or  was  she,  as  she  was,  scatter- 
ing his  means. 

Cooney:  So  she  would  be  too.  If  Mary  Brod- 
erick  is  in  need  of  relief  I  will  relieve  her,  but  if  she 
is  not,  I  will  bring  away  what  I  brought  with  me 
to  its  own  place  again. 

Nestor:  Sure  here  is  the  summons.  You  can 
read  that,  and  if  you  will  look  out  the  door  you 
can  see  by  the  stir  the  Magistrates  are  sitting  in 
the  Court.  It  is  a  great  welcome  she  will  have 
before  you,  and  the  relief  coming  at  the  very 
nick  of  time. 

Cooney:  It  is  too  good  a  welcome  she  will  give 
me  I  am  thinking.  It  is  what  I  am  in  dread  of 
now,  if  she  thinks  I  brought  her  the  money  so 
soft  and  so  easy,  she  will  never  be  leaving  me 
alone,  but  dragging  all  I  have  out  of  me  by  little 
and  little. 

Nestor:  Maybe  you  might  let  her  have  but  the 
lend  of  it. 

Cooney:  Where's  the  use  of  calling  it  a  lend 
when  I  may  be  sure  I  never  will  see  it  again?  It 
might  be  as  well  for  me  to  earn  the  value  of  a 
charity. 

Nestor:    You  might  do  that  and  not  repent  of  it. 

Cooney:  It  is  likely  I'll  be  annoyed  with  her  to 
the  end  of  my  lifetime  if  she  knows  I  have  as 
much  as  that  to  part  with.  It  might  be  she  would 
be  following  me  to  Limerick. 


The  Jackdaw  105 

Nestor:  Wait  now  a  minute  till  I  will  give  you 
an  advice. 

Cooney:  It  is  likely  my  own  advice  is  the  best. 
Look  over  your  own  shoulder  and  do  the  thing  you 
think  right.  How  can  any  other  person  know  the 
reasons  I  have  in  my  mind  ? 

Nestor:  I  will  know  what  is  in  your  mind  if 
you  will  tell  it  to  me. 

Cooney:  It  would  suit  me  best,  she  to  get  the 
money  and  not  to  know  at  the  present  time  where 
did  it  come  from.  The  next  time  she  will  write 
wanting  help  from  me,  I  will  task  her  with  it  and 
ask  her  to  give  me  an  account. 

Nestor:  That  now  would  take  a  great  deal  of 
strategy ....  Wait  now  till  I  think ....  I 
have  it  in  my  mind  I  was  reading  in  a  penny 
novel  ...  no  but  on  the  "Gael"  .  .  .  about 
a  boy  of  Kilbecanty  that  saved  his  old  sweetheart 
from  being  evicted. 

Cooney:  I  never  heard  my  sister  had  any  old 
sweetheart. 

Nestor:  It  was  playing  Twenty-five  he  did  it. 
Played  with  the  husband  he  did,  letting  him  win 
up  to  fifty  pounds. 

Cooney:  Mary  Broderick  was  no  cardplayer. 
And  if  she  was  itself  she  would  know  me.  And 
it's  not  fifty  pounds  I  am  going  to  leave  with  her, 
or  twenty  pounds,  or  a  penny  more  than  is  needful 
to  free  her  from  the  summons  to-day. 


io6  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  (Excited.}  I  will  make  up  a  plan!  I 
am  sure  I  will  think  of  a  good  one.  It  is  given 
in  to  me  there  is  no  person  so  good  at  making  up 
a  plan  as  myself  on  this  side  of  the  world,  not  on 
this  side  of  the  world !  I  will  manage  all.  Leave 
here  what  you  have  for  her  before  she  will  come 
in.  I  will  give  it  to  her  in  some  secret  way. 

Cooney:  I  don't  know.  I  will  not  give  it  to 
you  before  I  will  get  a  receipt  for  it  ...  and 
I'll  not  leave  the  town  till  I'll  see  did  she  get  it 
straight  and  fair.  Into  the  Court  I'll  go  to  see  her 
paying  it. 

(Sits  down  and  writes  out  receipt.} 

Nestor:  I  was  reading  on  ' '  Home  Chat "  about 
a  woman  put  a  note  for  five  pounds  into  her  son's 
prayer  book  and  he  going  a  voyage.  And  when 
he  came  back  and  was  in  the  church  with  her  it 
fell  out,  he  never  having  turned  a  leaf  of  the  book 
at  all. 

Cooney:     Let  you  sign  this  and  you  may  put  it 

in  the  prayer  book  so  long  as  she  will  get  it  safe. 

(Nestor  signs.     Cooney  looks  suspiciously  at 

signature  and  compares  it  with  a  letter 

and  then  gives  notes} 

Nestor:  (Signing.}     Joseph  Nestor. 

Cooney:  Let  me  see  now  is  it  the  same  hand- 
writing I  used  to  be  getting  on  the  letters.  It  is. 
I  have  the  notes  here. 

Nestor:     Wait  now  till  I  see  is  there  a  prayer 


The  Jackdaw  107 

book.    .    .    .     (Looks  on  shelf}.     Treacle,  castor 
oil,  marmalade.    ...     I  see  no  books  at  all. 

Cooney:  Hurry  on  now,  she  will  be  coming  in 
and  finding  me. 

Nestor:  Here  is  what  will  do  as  well .... 
"Old  Moore's  Almanac."  I  will  put  it  here 
between  the  leaves.  I  will  ask  her  the  prophecy 
for  the  month.  You  can  come  back  here  after 
she  finding  it. 

Cooney:  Amn't  I  after  telling  you  I  wouldn't 
wish  her  to  have  sight  of  me  here  at  all?  What 
are  you  at  now,  I  wonder,  saying  that.  I  will 
take  my  own  way  to  know  does  she  pay  the  money. 
It  is  not  my  intention  to  be  made  a  fool  of. 
(Goes  out} 

Nestor:  You  will  be  satisfied  and  well  satisfied. 
Let  me  see  now  where  are  the  predictions  for  the 
month.  (Reads.}  "The  angry  appearance  of 
Scorpio  and  the  position  of  the  pale  Venus  and 
Jupiter  presage  much  danger  for  England.  The 
heretofore  obsequious  Orangemen  will  refuse 
to  respond  to  the  tocsin  of  landlordism.  The 
scales  are  beginning  to  fall  from  their  eyes. " 

(Mrs.  Broderick  comes  in  without  his  no- 
ticing her.  She  gives  a  groan.  He 
drops  book  and  stuffs  notes  into  his 
pocket.} 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Here  I  am  back  again  and  no 
addition  to  me  since  I  went. 


io8  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  You  gave  me  a  start  coming  in  so 
noiseless. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  It  is  time  for  me  go  to  the 
Court,  and  I  give  you  my  word  I'd  be  better 
pleased  going  to  my  burying  at  the  Seven  Churches. 
A  nice  slab  I  have  there  waiting  for  me,  though  the 
man  that  put  it  over  me  I  never  saw  him  at  all,  and 
he  a  far  off  cousin  of  my  own. 

Nestor:  Who  knows  now,  Mrs.  Broderick,  but 
things  might  turn  out  better  than  you  think. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  What  way  could  they  turn 
out  better  between  this  and  one  o'clock? 

Nestor:  (Scratching  his  head.)  I  suppose  now 
you  wouldn't  care  to  play  a  game  of  Twenty-five? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Mr. 
Nestor,  asking  me  to  go  cardplaying  on  such  a  day 
and  at  such  an  hour  as  this. 

Nestor:  I  wonder  might  some  person  come  in 
and  give  an  order  for  ten  pounds'  worth  of  the 
stock  ? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Much  good  it  would  do  me. 
Sure  I  have  the  most  of  it  on  credit. 

Nestor:  Well,  there  is  no  knowing.  Some  well- 
to-do  person  now  passing  the  street  might  have 
seen  you  and  taken  a  liking  to  you  and  be  willing 
to  make  an  advance  or  a  loan. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Ah,  who  would  be  taking  a 
liking  to  me  as  they  might  to  a  young  girl  in 
her  bloom. 


The  Jackdaw  109 

Nestor.  Oh,  it's  a  sort  of  thing  might  happen. 
Sure  age  didn't  catch  on  to  you  yet;  you  are  clean 
and  fresh  and  sound.  What's  this  I  was  reading 
in  "Answers. "  (Looks  at  it.)  "Romantic  elope- 
ment ..." 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  know  of  no  one  would  be 
thinking  of  me  for  a  wife  .  .  .  unless  it  might 
be  yourself,  Mr.  Nestor .... 

Nestor:  (Jumping  up  and  speaking  fast  and  run- 
ning finger  up  and  down  paper.)  ' '  Performance  of 
Dick  Whittington. " .  .  .  There  now,  there  is 
a  story  that  I  read  in  my  reading,  it  was  called 
Whittington  and  the  Cat.  It  was  the  cat  led  to 
his  fortune.  There  might  some  person  take  a 
fancy  to  your  cat .... 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Ah,  let  you  have  done  now. 
I  have  no  cat  this  good  while.  I  banished  it  on 
the  head  of  it  threatening  the  jackdaw. 

Nestor:    The  jackdaw? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Fetches  cage  from  inner  room.) 
Sure  I  reared  it  since  the  time  it  fell  down  the 
chimney  and  I  going  into  my  bed.  It  is  often 
you  should  have  seen  it,  in  or  out  of  its  cage. 
Hero  his  name  is.  Come  out  now,  Hero. 
(Opens  cage.) 

Nestor:  (Slapping  his  side.}  That  is  it  .  .  . 
that's  the  very  thing.  Listen  to  me  now,  Mrs. 
Broderick,  there  are  some  might  give  a  good  price 
for  that  bird.  (Sitting  down  to  the  work.)  It 


1 10  The  Jackdaw 

chances  now  there  is  a  friend  of  mine  in  South 
Africa.  A  mine  owner  he  is  .  .  .  very  rich  .  .  . 
but  it  is  down  in  the  mine  he  has  to  live  by  reason 
of  the  Kaffirs  .  .  .  it  is  hard  to  keep  a  watch 
upon  them  in  the  half  dark,  they  being  black. 

Mrs.  Broderick:    I  suppose.    .    .    . 

Nestor:  He  does  be  lonesome  now  and  again, 
and  he  is  longing  for  a  bird  to  put  him  in  mind  of 
old  Ireland  .  .  .  but  he  is  in  dread  it  would  die 
in  the  darkness  .  .  .  and  it  came  to  his  mind  that 
it  is  a  custom  with  jackdaws  to  be  living  in  chim- 
neys, and  that  if  any  birds  would  bear  the  confine- 
ment it  is  they  that  should  do  it. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  And  is  it  to  buy  jackdaws  he 
is  going? 

Nestor:  Isn't  that  what  I  am  coming  to.  (He 
pulls  out  notes.}  Here  now  is  ten  pounds  I  have 
to  lay  out  for  him.  Take  them  now  and  good 
luck  go  with  them,  and  give  me  the  bird. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Notes  is  it?  Is  it  waking  or 
dreaming  I  am  and  I  standing  up  on  the  floor? 

Nestor:  Good  notes  and  ten  of  them.  Look 
at  them!  National  Bank  they  are.  .  .  .  Count 
them  now,  according  to  your  fingers,  and  see  did 
I  tell  any  lie. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Counting.}  They  are  in  it  sure 
enough  ...  so  long  as  they  are  good  ones  and 
I  not  made  a  hare  of  before  the  magistrates. 

Nestor:     Go  out  now  to  the  Court  and  show 


The  Jackdaw  in 

them  to  Timothy  Ward,  and  see  does  he  say  are 
they  good.  Pay  them  over  then,  and  its  likely 
you  will  be  let  off  the  costs. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Taking  shawl.}  I  will  go,  I  will 
go.  Well,  you  are  a  great  man  and  a  kind  man, 
Joseph  Nestor,  and  that  you  may  live  a  thousand 
years  for  this  good  deed. 

Nestor:  Look  here  now,  ma'am,  I  wouldn't 
wish  you  to  be  mentioning  my  name  in  this  busi- 
ness or  saying  I  had  any  hand  in  it  at  all. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  will  not  so  long  as  it's  not 
pleasing  to  you.  Well,  it  is  yourself  took  a  great 
load  off  me  this  day!  (She  goes  out.} 

Nestor:  (Calling  after  her.}  I  might  as  well  be 
putting  the  jackdaw  back  into  the  cage  to  be 
ready  for  the  journey.  (Comes  into  shop.}  I  hope 
now  he  will  be  well  treated  by  the  sailors  and  he 
travelling  over  the  sea.  .  .  .  Where  is  he 
now.  .  .  .  (Chirrups.}  Here  now,  come  here 
to  me,  what's  this  your  name  is.  ...  Nero! 
Nero!  (Makes  pounces  behind  counter.}  Ah, 
bad  manners  to  you,  is  it  under  the  counter  you 
are  gone! 

(Lies  flat  on  the  floor  chirruping  and  catting, 
Nero!  Nero!  Nolly  comes  in  and 
watches  him  curiously.} 

Nally:  Is  it  catching  blackbeetles  you  are, 
Mr.  Nestor?  Where  are  they  and  I  will  give 
you  a  hand .... 


ii2  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  (Getting  up  annoyed.}  It's  that  bird  I 
was  striving  to  catch  a  hold  of  for  to  put  him  back 
in  the  cage. 

Tommy  Natty:  (Making  a  pounce.}  There  he 
is  now.  (Puts  bird  in  cage.}  Wait  now  till  I'll 
fasten  the  gate. 

Nestor:  Just  putting  everything  straight  and 
handy  for  the  widow  woman  I  am  before  she  will 
come  back  from  the  settlement  she  is  making  in 
the  Court. 

Nally:    What  way  will  she  be  able  to  do  that  ? 

Nestor:  I  gave  her  advice.  A  thought  I  had, 
something  that  came  from  my  reading.  (Taps 
paper.}  Education  and  reading  and  going  in  the 
army  through  the  kingdoms  of  the  world;  that 
is  what  fits  a  man  now  to  be  giving  out  advice. 

Tommy:  Indeed,  it's  good  for  them  to  have 
you,  all  the  poor  ignorant  people  of  this  town. 

Cooney:  (Coming  in  hurriedly  and  knocking 
against  Nally  as  he  goes  out.}  What,  now,  would 
you  say  to  be  the  best  nesting  place  in  this  town. 
Nests  of  jackdaws  I  should  say. 

Nestor:  There  is  the  old  mill  should  be  a  good 
place.  To  the  west  of  the  station  it  is.  Chimneys 
there  are  in  it.  Middling  high  they  are.  Wait 
now  till  I'll  tell  you  of  the  great  plan  I  made 
up.  ... 

Cooney:  What  are  you  asking  for  those  rakes 
in  the  corner?  It's  no  matter,  I'll  take  one  on 


The  Jackdaw  113 

credit,  or  maybe  it  is  on'y  the  lend  of  it  I'll  take, 
...     I'll  be  coming  back  immediately. 
(He  goes  out  with  rake.) 

Sibby:  (Coming  in  excitedly.}  If  you  went  bird- 
catching,  Mr.  Nestor,  tell  me  what  way  would  you 
go  doing  it  ? 

Nestor:  It  is  not  long  since  I  was  reading  some 
account  of  that  .  .  .  lads  that  made  a  trade  of 
it  ...  nets  they  had  and  they  used  to  be 
spreading  them  in  the  swamps  where  the  plover 
do  be  feeding.  .  .  . 

Sibby:    Ah,  sure  where's  the  use  of  a  plover! 

Nestor:  And  snares  they  had  for  putting  along 
the  drains  where  the  snipe  do  be  picking  up 
worms.  .  .  .  But  if  I  myself  saw  any  person 
going  after  things  of  the  sort,  it  is  what  I  would 
advise  them  to  stick  to  the  net. 

Sibby:  What  now  is  the  price  of  that  net  in  the 
corner  ? 

Nestor:  (Taking  it  down.}  It  is  but  a  little  bag 
that  is,  suitable  for  carrying  small  articles;  it 
would  become  your  oranges  well.  Twopence  I 
believe,  Sibby,  is  what  I  should  charge  you  for 
that. 

Sibby:  (Taking  money  out  of  handkerchief.}  Give 
it  to  me  so!  Here  I'll  get  the  start  of  you, 
Timothy  Ward,  anyway. 

(She  takes  it  and  goes  out,  almost  overturning 
Timothy  Ward,  who  is  rushing  in.} 


1 14  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  Well,  Timothy,  did  you  see  the  Widow 
Broderick  in  the  Court  ? 

Ward:  I  did  see  her.  It  is  in  it  she  is,  now, 
looking  as  content  as  in  the  coffin,  and  she  paying 
her  debt. 

Nestor:  Did  she  give  you  any  account  of 
herself? 

Ward:  She  did  to  be  sure,  and  to  the  whole 
Court;  but  look  here  now,  I  have  no  time  to  be 
talking.  I  have  to  be  back  there  when  the 
magistrates  will  have  their  lunch  taken.  Now  you 
being  so  clever  a  man,  Mr.  Nestor,  what  would 
you  say  is  the  surest  way  to  go  catching  birds  ? 

Nestor:  It  is  a  strange  thing  now,  I  was  asked 
the  same  question  not  three  minutes  ago.  I  was 
just  searching  my  mind.  It  seems  to  me  I  have 
read  in  some  place  it  is  a  very  good  way  to  go 
calling  to  them  with  calls;  made  for  the  purpose 
they  are.  You  have  but  to  sit  under  a  tree  or 
whatever  place  they  may  perch  and  to  whistle 
.  .  .  suppose  now  it  might  be  for  a  curlew.  .  .  . 
(Whistles.} 

Timothy  Ward:  Are  there  any  of  those  calls 
in  the  shop? 

Nestor:  I  would  not  say  there  are  any  made  for 

the  purpose,  but  there  might  be  something  might 

answer  you  all  the  same.    Let  me  see  now .... 

(Gets  down  a  box  of  musical  toys  and  turns 

them  over.} 


The  Jackdaw  115 

Ward:  Is  there  anything  now  has  a  sound  like 
the  croaky  screech  of  a  jackdaw  ? 

Nestor:  Here  now  is  what  we  used  to  be  calling 
a  corncrake.  .  .  .  (Turns  it.}  Corncrake, 
corncrake  .  .  .  but  it  seems  to  me  now  that  to 
give  it  but  the  one  creak,  this  way  .  .  .  it  is 
much  like  what  you  would  hear  in  the  chimney  at 
the  time  of  the  making  of  the  nests. 

Ward:     Give  it  here  to  me! 

(Puts  a  penny  on  counter  and  runs  out.} 

Tommy  Natty:  (Coming  in  shaking  with  excite- 
ment.} For  the  love  of  God,  Mr.  Nestor,  will 
you  give  me  that  live-trap  on  credit ! 

Nestor:  A  trap?  Sure  there  is  no  temptation 
for  rats  to  be  settling  themselves  in  the  Workhouse. 

Nolly:  Or  a  snare  itself  ...  or  any  sort  of  a 
thing  that  would  make  the  makings  of  a  crib. 

Nestor:  What  would  you  want,  I  wonder,  going 
out  fowling  with  a  crib  ? 

Nally:  Why  wouldn't  I  want  it  ?  Why  wouldn't 
I  have  leave  to  catch  a  bird  the  same  as  every  other 
one? 

Nestor:  And  what  would  the  likes  of  you  be 
wanting  with  a  bird  ? 

Nally:  What  would  I  want  with  it,  is  it? 
Why  wouldn't  I  be  getting  my  own  ten  pounds? 

Nestor:     Heaven  help  your  poor  head  this  day ! 

Nally:  Why  wouldn't  I  get  it  the  same  as 
Mrs.  Broderick  got  it  ? 


n6  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  Well,  listen  to  me  now.  You  will  not 
get  it. 

Natty:  Sure  that  man  is  buying  them  will  have 
no  objection  they  to  come  from  one  more  than 
another. 

Nestor:  Don't  be  arguing  now.  It  is  a  queer 
thing  for  you,  Tommy  Nally,  to  be  arguing  with  a 
man  like  myself. 

Nally:  Think  now  all  the  good  it  would  do  me 
ten  pound  to  be  put  in  my  hand!  It  is  not  you 
should  be  begrudging  it  to  me,  Mr.  Nestor.  Sure 
it  would  be  a  relief  upon  the  rates. 

Nestor:  I  tell  you  you  will  not  get  ten  pound 
or  any  pound  at  all.  Can't  you  give  attention  to 
what  I  say? 

Nally:  If  I  had  but  the  price  of  the  trap  you 
wouldn't  refuse  it  to  me.  Well,  isn't  there  great 
hardship  upon  a  man  to  be  bet  up  and  to  have 
no  credit  in  the  town  at  all. 

Nestor:  (Exasperated,  and  giving  him  the  cage.) 
Look  here  now,  I  have  a  right  to  turn  you  out  into 
the  street.  But,  as  you  are  silly  like  and  with  no 
great  share  of  wits,  I  will  make  you  a  present  of 
this  bird  till  you  try  what  will  you  get  for  it,  and 
till  you  see  will  you  get  as  much  as  will  cover  its 
diet  for  one  day  only.  Go  out  now  looking  for 
customers  and  maybe  you  will  believe  what  I 
say. 

Natty:    (Seizing  it.)    That  you  may  be  doing  the 


The  Jackdaw  117 

same  thing  this  day  fifty  years!     My  fortune's 
made  now !     (Goes  out  with  cage.} 

Nestor:  (Sitting  down.}  My  joy  go  with  you,  but 
I'm  bothered  with  the  whole  of  you.  Everyone 
expecting  me  to  do  their  business  and  to  manage 
their  affairs.  That  is  the  drawback  of  being  an 
educated  man! 

(Takes  up  paper  to  read.} 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Coming  in.}  I  declare  I'm  as 
comforted  as  Job  coming  free  into  the  house  from 
the  Court! 

Nestor:  Well,  indeed,  ma'am,  I  am  well  satis- 
fied to  be  able  to  do  what  I  did  for  you,  and  for  my 
friend  from  Africa  as  well,  giving  him  so  fine  and 
so  handsome  a  bird. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Sure  Finn  himself  that  chewed 
his  thumb  had  not  your  wisdom,  or  King  Solomon 
that  kept  order  over  his  kingdom  and  his  own 
seven  hundred  wives.  There  is  neither  of  them 
could  be  put  beside  you  for  settling  the  business 
of  any  person  at  a  1. 

(S  bby  comes  in  holding  up  her  netted  bag.} 

Nestor:    What  is  it  you  have  there,  Sibby? 

Sibby:  Look  at  them  here,  look  at  them  here. 
...  I  wasn't  long  getting  them.  Warm  they 
are  yet;  they  will  take  no  injury. 

Mrs.  Broderick:    What  are  they  at  all? 

Sibby:  It  is  eggs  they  are  .  .  .  look  at  them. 
Jackdaws'  eggs. 


ii8  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  (Suspiciously. ,)  And  what  call  have 
you  now  to  be  bringing  in  jackdaws'  eggs? 

Sibby:  Is  it  ten  pound  apiece  I  will  get  for 
them  do  you  think,  or  is  it  but  ten  pound  I  will 
get  for  the  whole  of  them? 

Nestor:  Is  it  drink,  or  is  it  tea,  or  is  it  some 
change  that  is  come  upon  the  world  that  is  fit- 
ting the  people  of  this  place  for  the  asylum  in 
Ballinasloe? 

Sibby:  I  know  of  a  good  clocking  hen.  I  will 
put  the  eggs  under  her ....  I  will  rear  them 
when  they'll  be  hatched  out. 

Nestor:  I  suppose  now,  Mrs.  Broderick,  you 
went  belling  the  case  through  the  town? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  did  not,  but  to  the  Magis- 
trates upon  the  bench  that  I  told  it  out  of  respect 
to,  and  I  never  mentioned  your  name  in  it  at  all. 

Sibby:  Tell  me  now,  Mrs.  Broderick,  who  have 
I  to  apply  to? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  What  is  it  you  are  wanting 
to  app'y  about? 

Sibby:  Will  you  tell  me  where  is  the  man  that 
is  after  buying  your  jackdaw? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Looking  at  Nestor)  What's 
that  ?  Where  is  he,  is  it  ? 

Nestor:  (Making  signs  of  silence.)  How  would 
you  know  where  he  is?  It  is  not  in  a  broken 
little  town  of  this  sort  such  a  man  would  be  stop- 
ping, and  he  having  his  business  finished. 


The  Jackdaw  119 

Sibby:  Sure  he  will  have  to  be  coming  back 
here  for  the  bird.  I  will  stop  till  I'll  see  him 
drawing  near. 

Nestor:  It  is  more  likely  he  will  get  it  consigned 
to  the  shipping  agent.  Mind  what  I  say  now,  it  is 
best  not  be  speaking  of  him  at  all. 

(Timothy  Ward  comes  in  triumphantly, 
croaking  his  toy.  He  has  a  bird  in  his 
hand.} 

Ward:  I  chanced  on  a  starling.  It  was  not 
with  this  I  tempted  him,  but  a  little  chap  that  had 
him  in  a  crib.  Would  you  say  now,  Mr.  Nestor, 
would  that  do  as  well  as  a  jackdaw?  Look  now, 
it's  as  handsome  every  bit  as  the  other.  And 
anyway  it  is  likely  they  will  both  die  before  they 
will  reach  to  their  journey's  end. 

Nestor:  (Lifling  up  his  hands.}  Of  all  the  foolish- 
ness that  ever  came  upon  the  world ! 

Ward:  Hurry  on  now,  Mrs.  Broderick,  tell 
me  where  will  I  bring  it  to  the  buyer  you  were 
speaking  of.  He  is  fluttering  that  hard  it  is  much 
if  I  can  keep  him  in  my  hand.  Is  it  at  Noonan's 
Royal  Hotel  he  is  or  is  it  at  Mack's  ? 

Nestor:  (Shaking  his  head  threateningly.}  How 
can  you  tell  that  and  you  not  knowing  it  yourself  ? 

Ward:  Sure  you  have  a  right  to  know  what 
way  did  he  go,  and  he  after  going  out  of  this. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Her  eyes  apprehensively  on 
Nestor.)  Ah,  sure,  my  mind  was  tattered  on  me. 


120  The  Jackdaw 

I  couldn't  know  did  he  go  east  or  west.  Standing 
here  in  this  place  I  was,  like  a  ghost  that  got  a 
knock  upon  its  head. 

Ward:  If  he  is  coming  back  for  the  bird  it  is 
here  he  will  be  coming,  and  if  it  is  to  be  sent  after 
him  it  is  likely  you  will  have  his  address. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  So  I  should,  too,  I  suppose. 
Where  now  did  I  put  it  ?  (She  looks  to  Nestor  for 
orders,  but  cannot  understand  his  signs,  and  turns 
out  pocket.}  That's  my  specs  .  .  .  that's  the 
key  of  the  box  .  .  .  that's  a  bit  of  root  liquorice. 
.  .  .  Where  now  at  all  could  I  have  left  down 
that  address? 

Ward:  There  has  no  train  left  since  he  was 
here.  Sure  what  does  it  matter  so  long  as  he  did 
not  go  out  of  this.  I'll  bring  this  bird  to  the  rail- 
way. Tell  me  what  sort  was  he  till  I'll  know  him. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Still  looking  at  Nestor.}  Well, 
he  was  middling  tall  .  .  .  not  very  gross  .  .  . 
about  the  figure  now  of  Mr.  Nestor. 

Ward:    What  aged  man  was  he? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  suppose  up  to  sixty  years. 
About  the  one  age,  you'd  say,  with  Mr.  Nestor. 

Ward:  Give  me  some  better  account  now;  it 
is  hardly  I  would  make  him  out  by  that. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  A  grey  beard  he  has  hanging 
down  .  .  .  and  a  bald  poll,  and  grey  hair  like  a 
fringe  around  it  ...  just  for  all  the  world  like 
Mr.  Nestor! 


The  Jackdaw  121 

Nestor:  (Jumping  up.}  There  is  nothing  so  dis- 
agreeable in  the  whole  world  as  a  woman  that  has 
too  much  talk. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Well,  let  me  alone.  Where's 
the  use  of  them  all  picking  at  me  to  say  where  did 
I  get  the  money  when  I  am  under  orders  not  to 
tell  it? 

Ward:     Under  orders? 

Mrs.  Broderick:    I  am,  and  strong  orders. 

Ward:    Whose  orders  are  those  ? 

Mrs.  Broderick:    What's  that  to  you,  I  ask  you  ? 

Ward:  Isn't  it  a  pity  now  a  woman  to  be  so 
unneighbourly  and  she  after  getting  profit  for 
herself  ? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Look  now,  Mr.  Nestor,  the 
way  they  are  going  on  at  me,  and  you  saying  no 
word  for  me  at  all. 

Ward:  How  would  he  say  any  word  when  he 
hasn't  it  to  say?  The  only  word  could  be  said  by 
any  one  is  that  you  are  a  mean  grasping  person, 
gathering  what  you  can  for  your  own  profit  and 
keeping  yourself  so  close  and  so  compact.  It  is 
back  to  the  Court  I  am  going,  and  it's  no  good 
friend  I'll  be  to  you  from  this  out,  Mrs.  Broderick! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Amn't  I  telling  you  I  was 
bidden  not  to  tell? 

Sibby:  You  were.  And  is  it  likely  it  was  you 
yourself  bid  yourself  and  gave  you  that  advice, 
Mrs.  Broderick?  It  is  what  I  think  the  bird  was 


122  The  Jackdaw 

never  bought  at  all.  It  is  in  some  other  way  she 
got  the  money.  Maybe  in  a  way  she  does  not  like 
to  be  talking  of.  Light  weights,  light  fingers! 
Let  us  go  away  so  and  leave  her,  herself  and  her 
money  and  her  orders!  (Timothy  Ward  goes  out, 
but  Sibby  stops  at  door.}  And  much  good  may 
they  do  her. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Listen  to  that,  Mr.  Nestor! 
Will  you  be  listening  to  that,  when  one  word 
from  yourself  would  clear  my  character !  I  leave 
it  now  between  you  and  the  hearers.  Why  would 
I  be  questioned  this  way  and  that  way,  the  same 
as  if  I  was  on  the  green  table  before  the  judges? 
You  have  my  heart  broke  between  you.  It's 
best  for  me  to  heat  the  kettle  and  wet  a  drop  of 
tea. 

(Goes  to  inner  room.} 

Sibby:  Tell  us  the  truth  now,  Mr.  Nestor,  if 
you  know  anything  at  all  about  it. 

Nestor:  I  know  everything  about  it.  It  was 
to  myself  the  notes  were  handed  in  the  first  place. 
I  am  willing  to  take  my  oath  to  you  on  that.  It 
was  a  stranger,  I  said,  came  in. 

Sibby:  I  wish  I  could  see  him  and  know  him  if 
I  did  see  him. 

Nestor:  It  is  likely  you  would  know  a  man  of 
that  sort  if  you  did  see  him,  Sibby  Fahy.  It  is 
likely  you  never  saw  a  man  yet  that  owns  riches 
would  buy  up  the  half  of  this  town. 


The  Jackdaw  123 

Sibby:  It  is  not  always  them  that  has  the 
most  that  makes  the  most  show.  But  it  is  likely 
he  will  have  a  good  dark  suit  anyway,  and  shining 
boots,  and  a  gold  chain  hanging  over  his  chest. 

Nestor:  (Sarcastically.}  He  will,  and  gold  rings 
and  pins  the  same  as  the  King  of  France  or  of 
Spain. 

(Enter  Cooney,  hatless,  streaked  with  soot 
and  lime,  speechless  but  triumphant. 
He  holds  up  a  nest  with  nestlings?) 

Nestor:  What  has  happened  you,  Mr.  Cooney, 
at  all? 

Cooney:     Look  now,  what  I  have  got ! 

Nestor:    A  nest,  is  it  ? 

Cooney:    Three  young  ones  in  it! 

Nestor:  (Faintly.')  Is  it  what  you  are  going  to 
say  they  are  jackdaws! 

Cooney:     I  followed  your  directions.    .    .    . 

Nestor:    How  do  you  make  that  out? 

Cooney:  You  said  the  mill  chimneys  were  full 
of  them .... 

Nes  or:    What  has  that  to  do  with  it? 

Cooney:  I  left  my  rake  after  me  broken  in  the 
loft  .  .  .  my  hat  went  away  in  the  millrace 
...  I  tore  my  coat  on  the  stones  .  .  .  there 
has  mortar  got  into  my  eye.  .  .  . 

Nestor:    The  Lord  bless  and  save  us ! 

Cooney:  But  there  is  no  man  can  say  I  did 
not  bring  back  the  birds,  sound  and  living  and 


124  The  Jackdaw 

in  good  health.  Look  now,  the  open  mouths  of 
them!  (All  gather  round.)  Three  of  them  safe 
and  living.  ...  I  lost  one  climbing  the  wall. 
.  .  .  Where  now  is  the  man  is  going  to  buy 
them? 

Sibby:  (Pointing  at  Nestor.)  It  is  he  that  can 
tell  you  that. 

Cooney:  Make  no  delay  bringing  me  to  him. 
I'm  in  dread  they  might  die  on  me  first. 

Nestor:  You  should  know  well  that  no  one 
is  buying  them. 

Sibby:  No  one !  Sure  it  was  you  yourself  told 
us  that  there  was ! 

Nestor:  If  I  did  itself  there  is  no  such  a 
man. 

Sibby:  It's  not  above  two  minutes  he  was  tell- 
ing of  the  rings  and  the  pins  he  wore. 

Nestor:    He  never  was  in  it  at  all. 

Cooney:  What  plan  is  he  making  up  now  to 
defraud  me  and  to  rob  me? 

Sibby:  Question  him  yourself,  and  you  will 
see  what  will  he  say. 

Cooney:  How  can  I  ask  questions  of  a  man 
that  is  telling  lies? 

Nestor:  I  am  telling  no  lies.  I  am  well  able 
to  answer  you  and  to  tell  you  the  truth. 

Cooney:  Tell  me  where  is  the  man  that  will 
give  me  cash  for  these  birds,  the  same  as  he  gave 
it  to  the  woman  of  this  house? 


The  Jackdaw  125 

Sibby:  That's  it,  that  is  it.  Let  him  tell  it 
out  now. 

Cooney:  Will  you  have  me  ask  it  as  often  as 
the  hairs  of  my  head?  If  I  get  vexed  I  will  make 
you  answer  me. 

Nestor:  It  seems  to  me  to  have  set  fire  to  a 
rick,  but  I  am  well  able  to  quench  it  after. 
There  is  no  man  in  South  Africa,  or  that  came  from 
South  Africa,  or  that  ever  owned  a  mine  there  at 
all.  Where  is  the  man  bought  the  bird,  are  you 
asking?  There  he  is  standing  among  us  on  this 
floor.  (Points  to  Cooney.}  That  is  himself,  the 
very  man ! 

Cooney:  (Advancing  a  step.}  What  is  that  you 
are  saying? 

Nestor:  I  say  that  no  one  came  in  here  but 
yourself. 

Cooney:  Did  he  say  or  not  say  there  was  a  rich 
man  came  in? 

Sibby:    He  did,  surely. 

Nestor:    To  make  up  a  plan .... 

Cooney:     I  know  well  you  have  made  up  a  plan. 

Nestor:    To  give  it  unknownst .... 

Cooney:  It  is  to  keep  it  unknownst  you  are 
wanting ! 

Nestor:    The  way  she  would  not  suspect .... 

Cooney:  It  is  I  myself  suspect  and  have  cause 
to  suspect!  Give  me  back  my  own  ten  pounds 
and  I'll  be  satisfied. 


126  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:    What  way  can  I  give  it  back? 

Cooney.  The  same  way  as  you  took  it,  in  the 
palm  of  your  hand. 

Nestor:     Sure  it  is  paid  away  and  spent .... 

Cooney:  If  it  is  you'll  repay  it!  I  know  as 
well  as  if  I  was  inside  you  you  are  striving  to  make 
me  your  prey!  But  I'll  sober  you!  It  is  into  the 
Court  I  will  drag  you,  and  as  far  as  the  gaol! 

Nestor:  I  tell  you  I  gave  it  to  the  widow 
woman.  .  .  . 

(Mrs.  Broderick  comes  in.) 

Cooney:     Let  her  say  now  did  you. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  What  is  it  at  all?  What  is 
happening?  Joseph  Nestor  threatened  by  a 
tinker  or  a  tramp ! 

Nestor:  I  would  think  better  of  his  behaviour 
if  he  was  a  tinker  or  a  tramp. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  He  has  drink  taken  so.  Isn't 
drink  the  terrible  tempter,  a  man  to  see  flames 
and  punishment  upon  the  one  side  and  drink 
upon  the  other,  and  to  turn  his  face  towards 
the  drink! 

Cooney:  Will  you  stop  your  chat,  Mary 
Broderick,  till  I  will  drag  the  truth  out  of  this 
traitor? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Who  is  that  calling  me  by 
my  name?  Och!  Is  it  Michael  Cooney  is  in  it? 
Michael  Cooney,  my  brother!  O  Michael,  what 
will  they  think  of  you  coming  into  the  town  and 


The  Jackdaw  127 

much  like  a  rag  on  a  stick  would  be  scaring  in  the 
wheatfield  through  the  day? 

Cooney:  (Pointing  at  Nestor.}  It  was  going  up 
in  the  mill  I  destroyed  myself,  following  the  direc- 
tions of  that  ruffian ! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  And  what  call  has  a  man  that 
has  drink  taken  to  go  climbing  up  a  loft  in  a  mill? 
A  crooked  mind  you  had  always,  and  that's  a 
sort  of  person  drink  doesn't  suit. 

Cooney:  I  tell  you  I  didn't  take  a  glass  over 
a  counter  this  ten  year. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  You  would  do  well  to  go 
learn  behaviour  from  Mr.  Nestor. 

Cooney:  The  man  that  has  me  plundered  and 
robbed!  Tell  me  this  now,  if  you  can  tell  it. 
Did  you  find  any  pound  notes  in  "Old  Moore's 
Almanac"? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  did  not  to  be  sure,  or  in 
any  other  place. 

Nestor:  She  came  in  at  the  door  and  I  striving 
to  put  them  into  the  book. 

Cooney:  Look  are  they  in  it  now,  and  I  will 
say  he  is  not  tricky,  but  honest. 

Nestor:    You  needn't  be  looking.    ... 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Turningover  the  leaves.)  Ne'er 
a  thing  at  all  in  it  but  the  things  that  will  or  will 
not  happen,  and  the  days  of  the  changes  of  the 
moon. 

Cooney:     (Seizing   and   shaking   it.)     Look   at 


128  The  Jackdaw 

that  now!  (To  Nestor.}  Will  you  believe  me  now 
telling  you  that  you  are  a  rogue? 

Nestor:    Will  you  listen  to  me,  ma'am.    .    .    . 

Cooney:  No,  but  listen  to  myself.  I  brought 
the  money  to  you. 

Nestor:  If  he  did  he  wouldn't  trust  you  with 
it,  ma'am. 

Cooney:     I  intended  it  for  your  relief. 

Nestor:  In  dread  he  was  you  would  go  follow 
him  to  Limerick. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  It  is  not  likely  I  would  be 
following  the  like  of  him  to  Limerick,  a  man 
that  left  me  to  the  charity  of  strangers  from 
Africa! 

Cooney:    I  gave  the  money  to  him.    .    .    . 

Nestor:  And  I  gave  it  to  yourself  paying  for 
the  jackdaw.  Are  you  satisfied  now,  Mary 
Broderick? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Satisfied,  is  it?  It  would  be 
a  queer  thing  indeed  I  to  be  satisfied.  My 
brother  to  be  spending  money  on  birds,  and  his 
sister  with  a  summons  on  her  head.  Michael 
Cooney  to  be  passing  himself  off  as  a  mine-owner, 
and  I  myself  being  the  way  I  am! 

Cooney:  What  would  I  want  doing  that?  I 
tell  you  I  ask  no  birds,  black,  blue  or  white! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  I  wonder  at  you  now  saying 
that,  and  you  with  that  clutch  on  your  arm! 
(Cooney  indignantly  flings  away  nest.}  Searching 


The  Jackdaw  129 

out  jackdaws  and  his  sister  without  the  price  of 
a  needle  in  the  house !  I  tell  you,  Michael  Cooney, 
it  is  yourself  will  be  wandering  after  your  burying, 
naked  and  perishing,  through  winds  and  through 
frosts,  in  satisfaction  for  the  way  you  went 
wasting  your  money  and  your  means  on  such 
vanities,  and  she  that  was  reared  on  the  one 
floor  with  you  going  knocking  at  the  Work- 
house door!  What  good  will  jackdaws  be  to  you 
that  time? 

Cooney:  It  is  what  I  would  wish  to  know, 
what  scheme  are  the  whole  of  you  at?  It  is 
long  till  I  will  trust  any  one  but  my  own  eyes 
again  in  the  whole  of  the  living  world. 

(She  wipes  her  eyes  indignantly.  Tommy 
Nally  rushes  in  the  bird  and  cage  still  in 
his  hands.} 

Nally:  Where  is  the  bird  buyer?  It  is  here 
he  is  said  to  be.  It  is  well  for  me  get  here  the 
first.  It  is  the  whole  of  the  town  will  be  here 
within  half  an  hour ;  they  have  put  a  great  scatter 
on  themselves  hunting  and  searching  in  every  place, 
but  I  am  the  first! 

Nestor:     What  is  it  you  are  talking  about? 

Nally:  Not  a  house  in  the  whole  street  but 
is  deserted.  It  is  much  if  the  Magistrates  them- 
selves didn't  quit  the  bench  for  the  pursuit,  the 
way  Tim  Ward  quitted  the  place  he  had  a  right  to 

be! 
o 


130  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  It  is  some  curse  in  the  air,  or  some 
scourge? 

Nally:  Birds  they  are  getting  by  the  score! 
Old  and  young!  Where  is  the  bird-buyer?  Who 
is  it  now  will  give  me  my  price? 

(He  holds  up  the  cage.) 

Cooney:  There  is  surely  some  root  for  all  this. 
There  must  be  some  buyer  after  all.  It's  to 
keep  him  to  themselves  they  are  wanting.  (Goes 
to  door.)  But  I'll  get  my  own  profit  in  spite  of 
them. 

(He  goes  outside  door,  looking  up  and  down 
the  street.) 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Look  at  what  Tommy  Nally 
has.  That's  my  bird. 

Nally:    It  is  not,  it's  my  own ! 

Mrs.  Broderick:    That  is  my  cage! 

Nally:    It  is  not,  it  is  mine! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Wouldn't  I  know  my  own 
cage  and  my  own  bird?  Don't  be  telling  lies 
that  way! 

Nally:  It  is  no  lie  I  am  telling.  The  bird  and 
the  cage  were  made  a  present  to  me. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Who  would  make  a  present 
to  you  of  the  things  that  belong  to  myself? 

Nally:    It  was  Mr.  Nestor  gave  them  to  me. 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Do  you  hear  what  he  says, 
Joseph  Nestor?  What  call  have  you  to  be  giving 
a  present  of  my  bird? 


The  Jackdaw  131 

Nestor:  And  wasn't  I  after  buying  it  from 
you? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  If  you  were  it  was  not  for 
yourself  you  bought  it,  but  for  the  poor  man  in 
South  Africa  you  bought  it,  and  you  defrauding 
him  now,  giving  it  away  to  a  man  has  no  claim  to 
it  at  all.  Well,  now,  isn't  it  hard  for  any  man  to 
find  a  person  he  can  trust? 

Nestor:  Didn't  you  hear  me  saying  I  bought 
it  for  no  person  at  all? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Give  it  up  now,  Tommy  Nally, 
or  I'll  have  you  in  gaol  on  the  head  of  it. 

Nally:  Oh,  you  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing, 
ma'am,  I  am  sure! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Indeed  and  I  will,  and  have 
you  on  the  treadmill  for  a  thief. 

Nally:  Oh,  oh,  oh,  look  now,  Mr.  Nestor,  the 
way  you  have  made  me  a  thief  and  to  be  lodged 
in  the  gaol ! 

Nestor:  I  wish  to  God  you  were  lodged  in  it, 
and  we  would  have  less  annoyance  in  this  place! 

Nally:  Oh,  that  is  a  terrible  thing  for  you  to 
be  saying!  Sure  the  poorhouse  itself  is  better 
than  the  gaol!  The  nuns  preparing  you  for 
heaven  and  the  Mass  every  morning  of  your 
life.  .  .  . 

Nestor:  If  you  go  on  with  your  talk  and  your 
arguments  it's  to  gaol  you  will  surely  go. 

Natty:    Milk  of  a  Wednesday  and  a  Friday, 


132  The  Jackdaw 

the  potatoes  steamed  very  good.  .  .  .  It's  the 
skins  of  the  potatoes  they  were  telling  me  you  do 
have  to  be  eating  in  the  gaol.  It  is  what  I  am 
thinking,  Mr.  Nestor,  that  bird  will  lie  heavy 
on  you  at  the  last ! 

Nestor:  (Seizing  cage  and  letting  the  bird  out  of 
the  door.}  Bad  cess  and  a  bad  end  to  it,  and  that 
I  may  never  see  it  or  hear  of  it  again !? 

Mrs.  Broderick:  Look  what  he  is  after  doing! 
Get  it  back  for  me!  Give  it  here  into  my  hands 
I  say!  Why  wouldn't  I  sell  it  secondly  to  the 
buyer  and  he  to  be  coming  to  the  door?  It  is 
in  my  own  pocket  I  will  keep  the  price  of  it  that 
time! 

Natty:  It  would  have  been  as  good  you  to  have 
left  it  with  me  as  to  be  sending  itself  and  the 
worth  of  it  up  into  the  skies ! 

Mrs.  Broderick:  (Taking  Nestor's  arm.}  Get 
it  back  for  me  I  tell  you !  There  it  is  above  in  the 
ash  tree,  and  it  flapping  its  wings  on  a  bough ! 

Nestor:  Give  me  the  cage,  if  that  will  content 
you,  and  I  will  strive  to  entice  it  to  come  in. 

Cooney:  (Coming  in.}  Everyone  running  this 
way  and  that  way.  It  is  for  birds  they  are  look- 
ing sure  enough.  Why  now  would  they  go  through 
such  hardship  if  there  was  not  a  demand  in  some 
place? 

Nestor:  (Pushing  him  away.}  Let  me  go  now 
before  that  bird  will  quit  the  branch  where  it  is. 


The  Jackdaw  133 

Cooney:  (Seizing  hold  of  him.}  Is  it  striving 
to  catch  a  bird  for  yourself  you  are  now? 

Nestor:  Let  me  pass  if  you  please.  I  have 
nothing  to  say  to  you  at  all. 

Cooney:  Laying  down  to  me  they  were  worth 
nothing!  I  knew  well  you  had  made  up  some 
plan!  The  grand  adviser  is  it!  It  is  to  yourself 
you  gave  good  advice  that  time! 

Nestor:  Let  me  out  I  tell  you  before  that  up- 
roar you  are  making  will  drive  it  from  its  perch 
on  the  tree. 

Cooney:  Is  it  to  rob  me  of  my  own  money  you 
did  and  to  be  keeping  me  out  of  the  money  I 
earned  along  with  it! 

(Threatens  Nestor  with  "  Moore's  Almanac, " 
which  he  has  picked  up.} 

Sibby:  Take  care  would  there  be  murder  done 
in  this  place ! 

(She  seizes  Nestor,  Mrs.  Broderick  seizes 
Cooney.  Tommy  Nally  wrings  his 
hands.} 

Nestor:  Tommy  Nally,  will  you  kindly  go  and 
call  for  the  police. 

Cooney:  Is  it  into  a  den  of  wild  beasts  I  am 
come  that  must  go  calling  out  for  the  police? 

Nestor:    A  very  unmannerly  person  indeed ! 

Cooney:  Everyone  thinking  to  take  advan- 
tage of  me  and  to  make  their  own  trap  for  my 
ruin. 


134  The  Jackdaw 

Nestor:  I  don't  know  what  cause  has  he  at  all  to 
have  taken  any  umbrage  against  me. 

Cooney:  You  that  had  your  eye  on  my  notes 
from  the  first  like  a  goat  in  a  cabbage  garden! 

Nestor:  Coming  with  a  gift  in  the  one  hand 
and  holding  a  dagger  in  the  other! 

Cooney:  If  you  say  that  again  I  will  break 
your  collar  bone ! 

Nestor:  O,  but  you  are  the  terrible  wicked 
man! 

Cooney:  I'll  squeeze  satisfaction  out  of  you 
if  I  had  to  hang  for  it!  I  will  be  well  satisfied 
if  I'll  kill  you! 

(Flings  "Moore's  Almanac"  at  him.} 

Nestor:  (Throwing  his  bundle  of  newspapers.) 
Oh,  good  jewel! 

Ward:  (Coming  in  hastily.)  Whist  the  whole 
of  you,  I  tell  you!  The  Magistrates  are  coming 
to  the  door!  (Comes  in  and  shuts  it  after  him.) 

Mrs.  Broderick:  The  Lord  be  between  us 
and  harm!  What  made  them  go  quit  the  Court? 

Ward:  The  whole  of  the  witnesses  and  of 
the  prosecution  made  off  bird-catching.  The 
Magistrates  sent  to  invite  the  great  mine-owner 
to  go  lunch  at  Noonan's  with  themselves. 

Cooney:  Horses  of  their  own  to  stick  him  with 
they  have.  I  wouldn't  doubt  them  at  all. 

Ward:  He  could  not  be  found  in  any  place. 
They  are  informed  he  was  never  seen  leaving 


The  Jackdaw  135 

this  house.    They  are  coming  to  make  an  investi- 
gation. 

Nestor:  Don't  be  anyway  uneasy.  I  will 
explain  the  whole  case. 

Ward:    The  police  along  with  them.    .    .    . 
Cooney:    Is  the  whole  of  this  district  turned 
into  a  trap? 

Ward:  It  is  what  they  are  thinking,  that  the 
stranger  was  made  away  with  for  his  gold! 

Cooney:  And  if  he  was,  as  sure  as  you  are 
living,  it  was  done  by  that  blackguard  there! 

(Points  at  Nestor.) 

Ward:     If  he  is  not  found  they  will  arrest  all 
they  see  upon  the  premises.    .    .    . 
Cooney:    It  is  best  for  me  to  quit  this. 

(Goes  to  door.) 

Ward:  Here  they  are  at  the  door.  Sergeant 
Garden  along  with  them.  Hide  yourself,  Mr. 
Nestor,  if  you've  anyway  to  do  it  at  all. 

(Sounds  of  feet  and  talking  and  knock  at  the 
door.  Cooney  hides  under  counter. 
Nestor  lies  down  on  top  of  bench,  spreads 
his  newspaper  over  him.  Mrs.  Broder- 
ick  goes  behind  counter.) 

Nestor:  (Raising  paper  from  his  face  and  looking 
out.)  Tommy  Nally,  I  will  give  you  five  shillings 
if  you  will  draw  "Tit-Bits"  over  my  feet. 

Curtain 


THE  WORKHOUSE  WARD 


PERSONS 

Mike  Mclnerney^  PAUPERS 

Michael  Miskell  \ 

Mrs.  Donohoe,  A  COUNTRYWOMAN 


138 


THE  WORKHOUSE  WARD 

Scene:    A   ward  in  Cloon   Workhouse.     The  two 
old  men  in  their  beds. 

Michael  Miskell:  Isn't  it  a  hard  case,  Mike 
Mclnerney,  myself  and  yourself  to  be  left  here 
in  the  bed,  and  it  the  feast  day  of  Saint  Colman, 
and  the  rest  of  the  ward  attending  on  the  Mass. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Is  it  sitting  up  by  the  hearth 
you  are  wishful  to  be,  Michael  Miskell,  with  cold 
in  the  shoulders  and  with  speckled  shins?  Let  you 
rise  up  so,  and  you  well  able  to  do  it,  not  like  myself 
that  has  pains  the  same  as  tin-tacks  within  in  my 
inside. 

Michael  Miskell:  If  you  have  pains  within  in 
your  inside  there  is  no  one  can  see  it  or  know  of 
it  the  way  they  can  see  my  own  knees  that  are 
swelled  up  with  the  rheumatism,  and  my  hands 
that  are  twisted  in  ridges  the  same  as  an  old 
cabbage  stalk.  It  is  easy  to  be  talking  about 
soreness  and  about  pains,  and  they  maybe  not 
to  be  in  it  at  all. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  To  open  me  and  to  analyse 
me  you  would  know  what  sort  of  a  pain  and  a 

i39 


140  The  Workhouse  Ward 

soreness  I  have  in  my  heart  and  in  my  chest. 
But  I'm  not  one  like  yourself  to  be  cursing  and 
praying  and  tormenting  the  time  the  nuns  are  at 
hand,  thinking  to  get  a  bigger  share  than  myself 
of  the  nourishment  and  of  the  milk. 

Michael  Miskell:  That's  the  way  you  do  be 
picking  at  me  and  faulting  me.  I  had  a  share 
and  a  good  share  in  my  early  time,  and  it's  well 
you  know  that,  and  the  both  of  us  reared  in 
Skehanagh. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  You  may  say  that,  ind  ed, 
we  are  both  of  us  reared  in  Skehanagh.  Little 
wonder  you  to  have  good  nourishment  the  time 
we  were  both  rising,  and  you  bringing  away  my 
rabbits  out  of  the  snare. 

Michael  Miskell:  And  you  didn't  bring  away 
my  own  eels,  I  suppose,  I  was  after  spearing  in 
the  Turlough?  Selling  them  to  the  nuns  in  the 
convent  you  did,  and  letting  on  they  to  be  your 
own.  For  you  were  always  a  cheater  and  a 
schemer,  grabbing  every  earthly  thing  for  your 
own  profit. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  And  you  were  no  grabber 
yourself,  I  suppose,  till  your  land  and  all  you 
had  grabbed  wore  away  from  you! 

Michael  Miskell:  If  I  lost  it  itself,  it  was 
through  the  crosses  I  met  with  and  I  going  through 
the  world.  I  never  was  a  rambler  and  a  card- 
player  like  yourself,  Mike  Mclnerney,  that  ran 


The  Workhouse  Ward  141 

through  all  and  lavished  it  unknown  to  your 
mother! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Lavished  it,  is  it?  And  if 
I  did  was  it  you  yourself  led  me  to  lavish  it  or 
some  other  one?  It  is  on  my  own  floor  I  would 
be  to-day  and  in  the  face  of  my  family,  but  for  the 
misfortune  I  had  to  be  put  with  a  bad  next  door 
neighbour  that  was  yourself.  What  way  did  my 
means  go  from  me  is  it?  Spending  on  fencing, 
spending  on  walls,  making  up  gates,  putting  up 
doors,  that  would  keep  your  hens  and  your  ducks 
from  coming  in  through  starvation  on  my  floor, 
and  every  four  footed  beast  you  had  from  preying 
and  trespassing  on  my  oats  and  my  mangolds  and 
my  little  lock  of  hay! 

Michael  Miskell:  0  to  listen  to  you!  And  I 
striving  to  please  you  and  to  be  kind  to  you  and 
to  close  my  ears  to  the  abuse  you  would  be  calling 
and  letting  out  of  your  mouth.  To  trespass  on 
your  crops  is  it?  It's  little  temptation  there  was 
for  my  poor  beasts  to  ask  to  cross  the  mering. 
My  God  Almighty!  What  had  you  but  a  little 
corner  of  a  field ! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  And  what  do  you  say  to  my 
garden  that  your  two  pigs  had  destroyed  on  me 
the  year  of  the  big  tree  being  knocked,  and  they 
making  gaps  in  the  wall. 

Michael  Miskell:  Ah,  there  does  be  a  great 
deal  of  gaps  knocked  in  a  twelvemonth.  Why 


142  The  Workhouse  Ward 

wouldn't  they  be  knocked  by  the  thunder,  the 
same  as  the  tree,  or  some  storm  that  came  up 
from  the  west? 

Mike  Mclnerney:  It  was  the  west  wind,  I 
suppose,  that  devoured  my  green  cabbage?  And 
that  rooted  up  my  Champion  potatoes?  And 
that  ate  the  gooseberries  themselves  from  off  the 
bush? 

Michael  Miskell:  What  are  you  saying?  The 
two  quietest  pigs  ever  I  had,  no  way  wicked  and 
well  ringed.  They  were  not  ten  minutes  in  it. 
It  would  be  hard  for  them  eat  strawberries  in  that 
time,  let  alone  gooseberries  that's  full  of  thorns. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  They  were  not  quiet,  but 
very  ravenous  pigs  you  had  that  time,  as  active 
as  a  fox  they  were,  killing  my  young  ducks. 
Once  they  had  blood  tasted  you  couldn't  stop 
them. 

Michael  Miskell:  And  what  happened  myself 
the  fair  day  of  Esserkelly,  the  time  I  was  passing 
your  door?  Two  brazened  dogs  that  rushed  out 
and  took  a  piece  of  me.  I  never  was  the  better 
of  it  or  of  the  start  I  got,  but  wasting  from  then 
till  now! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Thinking  you  were  a  wild 
beast  they  did,  that  had  made  his  escape  out  of 
the  travelling  show,  with  the  red  eyes  of  you  and 
the  ugly  face  of  you,  and  the  two  crooked  legs  of 
you  that  wouldn't  hardly  stop  a  pig  in  a  gap. 


The  Workhouse  Ward  143 

Sure  any  dog  that  had  any  life  in  it  at  all  would 
be  roused  and  stirred  seeing  the  like  of  you  going 
the  road ! 

Michael  Miskell:  I  did  well  taking  out  a  sum- 
mons against  you  that  time.  It  is  a  great  wonder 
you  not  to  have  been  bound  over  through  your 
lifetime,  but  the  laws  of  England  is  queer. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  What  ailed  me  that  I  did 
not  summons  yourself  after  you  stealing  away 
the  clutch  of  eggs  I  had  in  the  barrel,  and  I  away  in 
Ardrahan  searching  out  a  clocking  hen. 

Michael  Miskell:  To  steal  your  eggs  is  it?  Is 
that  what  you  are  saying  now?  (Holds  up  his 
hands.}  The  Lord  is  in  heaven,  and  Peter  and  the 
saints,  and  yourself  that  was  in  Ardrahan  that  day 
put  a  hand  on  them  as  soon  as  myself!  Isn't  it 
a  bad  story  for  me  to  be  wearing  out  my  days 
beside  you  the  same  as  a  spancelled  goat.  Chained 
I  am  and  tethered  I  am  to  a  man  that  is  ramsacking 
his  mind  for  lies ! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  If  it  is  a  bad  story  for  you, 
Michael  Miskell,  it  is  a  worse  story  again  for 
myself.  A  Miskell  to  be  next  and  near  me  through 
the  whole  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  year.  I  never 
heard  there  to  be  any  great  name  on  the  Miskells 
as  there  was  on  my  own  race  and  name. 

Michael  Miskell:  You  didn't,  is  it?  Well,  you 
could  hear  it  if  you  had  but  ears  to  hear  it.  Go 
across  to  Lisheen  Crannagh  and  down  to  the 


144  The  Workhouse  Ward 

sea  and  to  Newtown  Lynch  and  the  mills  of 
Duras  and  you'll  find  a  Miskell,  and  as  far  as 
Dublin! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  What  signifies  Crannagh 
and  the  mills  of  Duras?  Look  at  all  my  own 
generations  that  are  buried  at  the  Seven  Churches. 
And  how  many  generations  of  the  Miskells  are 
buried  in  it?  Answer  me  that! 

Michael  Miskell:  I  tell  you  but  for  the  wheat 
that  was  to  be  sowed  there  would  be  more  side 
cars  and  more  common  cars  at  my  father's  funeral 
(God  rest  his  soul!)  than  at  any  funeral  ever  left 
your  own  door.  And  as  to  my  mother,  she  was  a 
Cuffe  from  Claregalway,  and  it's  she  had  the  purer 
blood! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  And  what  do  you  say  to  the 
banshee?  Isn't  she  apt  to  have  knowledge  of  the 
ancient  race?  Was  ever  she  heard  to  screech  or  to 
cry  for  the  Miskells?  Or  for  the  Cuffes  from 
Claregalway?  She  was  not,  but  for  the  six 
families,  the  Hyneses,  the  Foxes,  the  Faheys,  the 
Dooleys,  the  Mclnerneys.  It  is  of  the  nature  of 
the  Mclnerneys  she  is  I  am  thinking,  crying  them 
the  same  as  a  king's  children. 

Michael  Miskell:  It  is  a  pity  the  banshee  not 
to  be  crying  for  yourself  at  this  minute,  and 
giving  you  a  warning  to  quit  your  lies  and  your 
chat  and  your  arguing  and  your  contrary  ways; 
for  there  is  no  one  under  the  rising  sun  could  stand 


The  Workhouse  Ward  145 

you.  I  tell  you  you  are  not  behaving  as  in  the 
presence  of  the  Lord ! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Is  it  wishful  for  my  death 
you  are?  Let  it  come  and  meet  me  now  and  wel- 
come so  long  as  it  will  part  me  from  yourself! 
And  I  say,  and  I  would  kiss  the  book  on  it,  I  to 
have  one  request  only  to  be  granted,  and  I  leaving 
it  in  my  will,  it  is  what  I  would  request,  nine 
furrows  of  the  field,  nine  ridges  of  the  hills,  nine 
waves  of  the  ocean  to  be  put  between  your  grave 
and  my  own  grave  the  time  we  will  be  laid  in  the 
ground ! 

Michael  Miskell:  Amen  to  that!  Nine  ridges, 
is  it?  No,  but  let  the  whole  ridge  of  the  world 
separate  us  till  the  Day  of  Judgment !  I  would  not 
be  laid  anear  you  at  the  Seven  Churches,  I  to  get 
Ireland  without  a  divide! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  And  after  that  again!  I'd 
sooner  than  ten  pound  in  my  hand,  I  to  know 
that  my  shadow  and  my  ghost  will  not  be  knocking 
about  with  your  shadow  and  your  ghost,  and  the 
both  of  us  waiting  our  time.  I'd  sooner  be  de- 
layed in  Purgatory !  Now,  have  you  anything  to 
say? 

Michael  Miskell:  I  have  everything  to  say,  if 
I  had  but  the  time  to  say  it ! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  (Sitting  up.}  Let  me  up  out 
of  this  till  I'll  choke  you! 

Michael  Miskell:    You  scolding  pauper  you! 

10 


146  The  Workhouse  Ward 

Mike  Mclnerney:  (Shaking  his  fist  at  him.) 
Wait  a  while! 

Michael  Miskell:  (Shaking  his  fist.)  Wait  a 
while  yourself! 

(Mrs.  Donohoe  comes  in  with  a  parcel.  She 
is  a  countrywoman  with  a  frilled  cap  and 
a  shawl.  She  stands  still  a  minute. 
The  two  old  men  lie  down  and  compose 
themselves.) 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  They  bade  me  come  up  here 
by  the  stair.  I  never  was  in  this  place  at  all. 
I  don't  know  am  I  right.  Which  now  of  the  two 
of  ye  is  Mike  Mclnerney? 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Who  is  it  is  calling  me  by  my 
name? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Sure  amn't  I  your  sister,  Honor 
Mclnerney  that  was,  that  is  now  Honor  Donohoe. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  So  you  are,  I  believe.  I 
didn't  know  you  till  you  pushed  anear  me.  It 
is  time  indeed  for  you  to  come  see  me,  and  I  in 
this  place  five  year  or  more.  Thinking  me  to  be 
no  credit  to  you,  I  suppose,  among  that  tribe  of 
the  Donohoes.  I  wonder  they  to  give  you  leave 
to  come  ask  am  I  living  yet  or  dead? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Ah,  sure,  I  buried  the  whole 
string  of  them.  Himself  was  the  last  to  go. 
(Wipes  her  eyes.)  The  Lord  be  praised  he  got  a 
fine  natural  death.  Sure  we  must  go  through  our 
crosses.  And  he  got  a  lovely  funeral;  it  would 


The  Workhouse  Ward  147 

delight  you  to  hear  the  priest  reading  the  Mass. 
My  poor  John  Donohoe !  A  nice  clean  man,  you 
couldn't  but  be  fond  of  him.  Very  severe  on 
the  tobacco  he  was,  but  he  wouldn't  touch  the 
drink. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  And  is  it  in  Curranroe  you 
are  living  yet? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  It  is  so.  He  left  all  to  myself. 
But  it  is  a  lonesome  thing  the  head  of  a  house  to 
have  died! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  I  hope  that  he  has  left  you 
a  nice  way  of  living? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Fair  enough,  fair  enough.  A 
wide  lovely  house  I  have;  a  few  acres  of  grass 
land  .  .  .  the  grass  does  be  very  sweet  that 
grows  among  the  stones.  And  as  to  the  sea, 
there  is  something  from  it  every  day  of  the  year, 
a  handful  of  periwinkles  to  make  kitchen,  or  cockles 
maybe.  There  is  many  a  thing  in  the  sea  is  not 
decent,  but  cockles  is  fit  to  put  before  the  Lord! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  You  have  all  that!  And 
you  without  ere  a  man  in  the  house? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  It  is  what  I  am  thinking,  your- 
self might  come  and  keep  me  company.  It  is 
no  credit  to  me  a  brother  of  my  own  to  be  in  this 
place  at  all. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  I'll  go  with  you!  Let  me 
out  of  this!  It  is  the  name  of  the  Mclnerneys 
will  be  rising  on  every  side! 


148  The  Workhouse  Ward 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  I  don't  know.  I  was  ignorant 
of  you  being  kept  to  the  bed. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  I  am  not  kept  to  it,  but  may- 
be an  odd  time  when  there  is  a  colic  rises  up  within 
me.  My  stomach  always  gets  better  the  time 
there  is  a  change  in  the  moon.  I'd  like  well  to 
draw  anear  you.  My  heavy  blessing  on  you, 
Honor  Donohoe,  for  the  hand  you  have  held  out 
to  me  this  day. 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Sure  you  could  be  keeping  the 
fire  in,  and  stirring  the  pot  with  the  bit  of  Indian 
meal  for  the  hens,  and  milking  the  goat  and  taking 
the  tacklings  off  the  donkey  at  the  door;  and 
maybe  putting  out  the  cabbage  plants  in  their 
time.  For  when  the  old  man  died  the  garden 
died. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  I  could  to  be  sure,  and  be 
cutting  the  potatoes  for  seed.  What  luck  could 
there  be  in  a  place  and  a  man  not  to  be  in  it? 
Is  that  now  a  suit  of  clothes  you  have  brought  with 
you? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  It  is  so,  the  way  you  will  be 
tasty  coming  in  among  the  neighbours  at  Cur- 
ranroe. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  My  joy  you  are !  It  is  well 
you  earned  me !  Let  me  up  out  of  this !  (He  sits 
up  and  spreads  out  the  clothes  and  tries  on  coat.} 
That  now  is  a  good  frieze  coat  .  .  .  and  a  hat 
in  the  fashion  .  .  .  (He  puts  on  hat.} 


The  Workhouse  Ward  149 

Michael  Miskell:  (Alarmed.}  And  is  it  going 
out  of  this  you  are,  Mike  Mclnerney? 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Don't  you  hear  I  am  going? 
To  Curranroe  I  am  going.  Going  I  am  to  a  place 
where  I  will  get  every  good  thing! 

Michael  Miskell:  And  is  it  to  leave  me  here 
after  you  you  will? 

Mike  Mclnerney:  (In  a  rising  chant.}  Every 
good  thing!  The  goat  and  the  kid  are  there,  the 
sheep  and  the  lamb  are  there,  the  cow  does  be 
running  and  she  coming  to  be  milked !  Ploughing 
and  seed  sowing,  blossom  at  Christmas  time,  the 
cuckoo  speaking  through  the  dark  days  of  the  year ! 
Ah,  what  are  you  talking  about?  Wheat  high  in 
hedges,  no  talk  about  the  rent!  Salmon  in  the 
rivers  as  plenty  as  turf!  Spending  and  getting 
and  nothing  scarce!  Sport  and  pleasure,  and 
music  on  the  strings!  Age  will  go  from  me  and 
I  will  be  young  again.  Geese  and  turkeys  for  the 
hundreds  and  drink  for  the  whole  world ! 

Michael  Miskell:  Ah,  Mike,  is  it  truth  you  are 
saying,  you  to  go  from  me  and  to  leave  me  with 
rude  people  and  with  townspeople,  and  with 
people  of  every  parish  in  the  union,  and  they 
having  no  respect  for  me  or  no  wish  for  me  at  all! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Whist  now  and  I'll  leave 
you  .  .  .  my  pipe  (hands  it  over};  and  I'll 
engage  it  is  Honor  Donohoe  won't  refuse  to  be 
sending  you  a  few  ounces  of  tobacco  an  odd  time, 


150  The  Workhouse  Ward 

and  neighbours  coming  to  the  fair  in  November 
or  in  the  month  of  May. 

Michael  Miskell:  Ah,  what  signifies  tobacco? 
All  that  I  am  craving  is  the  talk.  There  to  be 
no  one  at  all  to  say  out  to  whatever  thought  might 
be  rising  in  my  innate  mind!  To  be  lying  here 
and  no  conversible  person  in  it  would  be  the 
abomination  of  misery! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Look  now,  Honor.  .  .  . 
It  is  what  I  often  heard  said,  two  to  be  better  than 
one ....  Sure  if  you  had  an  old  trouser  was 
full  of  holes  .  .  .  or  a  skirt  .  .  .  wouldn't  you 
put  another  in  under  it  that  might  be  as  tattered 
as  itself,  and  the  two  of  them  together  would  make 
some  sort  of  a  decent  show? 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Ah,  what  are  you  saying? 
There  is  no  holes  in  that  suit  I  brought  you 
now,  but  as  sound  it  is  as  the  day  I  spun  it  for 
himself. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  It  is  what  I  am  thinking, 
Honor  ...  I  do  be  weak  an  odd  time .  .  .  any 
load  I  would  carry,  it  preys  upon  my  side  .  .  . 
and  this  man  does  be  weak  an  odd  time  with  the 
swelling  in  his  knees  .  .  .  but  the  two  of  us 
together  it's  not  likely  it  is  at  the  one  time  we 
would  fail.  Bring  the  both  of  us  with  you,  Honor, 
and  the  height  of  the  castle  of  luck  on  you,  and 
the  both  of  us  together  will  make  one  good  hardy 
man! 


The  Workhouse  Ward  151 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  I'd  like  my  job!  Is  it  queer  in 
the  head  you  are  grown  asking  me  to  bring  in  a 
stranger  off  the  road? 

Midiael  Miskell:  I  am  not,  ma'am,  but  an  old 
neighbour  I  am.  If  I  had  forecasted  this  asking 
I  would  have  asked  it  myself.  Michael  Miskell 
I  am,  that  was  in  the  next  house  to  you  in  Ske- 
hanagh ! 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  For  pity's  sake !  Michael  Mis- 
kell is  it?  That's  worse  again.  Yourself  and 
Mike  that  never  left  fighting  and  scolding  and 
attacking  one  another!  Sparring  at  one  another 
like  two  young  pups  you  were,  and  threatening  one 
another  after  like  two  grown  dogs! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  All  the  quarrelling  was  ever 
in  the  place  it  was  myself  did  it.  Sure  his  anger 
rises  fast  and  goes  away  like  the  wind.  Bring 
him  out  with  myself  now,  Honor  Donohoe,  and 
God  bless  you. 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Well,  then,  I  will  not  bring  him 
out,  and  I  will  not  bring  yourself  out,  and  you  not 
to  learn  better  sense.  Are  you  making  yourself 
ready  to  come? 

Mike  Mclnerney:  I  am  thinking,  maybe  .  .  . 
it  is  a  mean  thing  for  a  man  that  is  shivering  into 
seventy  years  to  go  changing  from  place  to  place. 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Well,  take  your  luck  or  leave  it. 
All  I  asked  was  to  save  you  from  the  hurt  and  the 
harm  of  the  year. 


152  The  Workhouse  Ward 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Bring  the  both  of  us  with  you 
or  I  will  not  stir  out  of  this. 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  Give  me  back  my  fine  suit  so 
(begins  gathering  up  the  clothes),  till  I'll  go  look 
for  a  man  of  my  own ! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Let  you  go  so,  as  you  are 
so  unnatural  and  so  disobliging,  and  look  for  some 
man  of  your  own,  God  help  him!  For  I  will  not 
go  with  you  at  all ! 

Mrs.  Donohoe:  It  is  too  much  time  I  lost  with 
you,  and  dark  night  waiting  to  overtake  me  on  the 
road.  Let  the  two  of  you  stop  together,  and  the 
back  of  my  hand  to  you.  It  is  I  will  leave  you 
there  the  same  as  God  left  the  Jews ! 

(She  goes  out.     The  old  men  lie  down  and  are 
silent  for  a  moment.) 

Michael  Miskell:  Maybe  the  house  is  not  so 
wide  as  what  she  says. 

Mike  Mclnerney:    Why  wouldn't  it  be  wide? 

Michael  Miskell:  Ah,  there  does  be  a  good  deal 
of  middling  poor  houses  down  by  the  sea. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  What  wrould  you  know  about 
wide  houses?  Whatever  sort  of  a  house  you  had 
yourself  it  was  too  wide  for  the  provision  you  had 
into  it. 

Michael  Miskell:  Whatever  provision  I  had 
in  my  house  it  was  wholesome  provision  and 
natural  provision.  Herself  and  her  periwinkles! 
Periwinkles  is  a  hungry  sort  of  food. 


The  Workhouse  Ward  153 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Stop  your  impudence  and 
your  chat  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  I'd 
bear  with  my  own  father  and  mother  as  long  as 
any  man  would,  but  if  they'd  vex  me  I  would  give 
them  the  length  of  a  rope  as  soon  as  another! 

Michael  Miskell:  I  would  never  ask  at  all  to  go 
eating  periwinkles. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  (Sitting  up.}  Have  you 
anyone  to  fight  me? 

Michael  Miskell:  (Whimpering.}  I  have  not, 
only  the  Lord! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Let  you  leave  putting  insults 
on  me  so,  and  death  picking  at  you! 

Michael  Miskell:  Sure  I  am  saying  nothing  at 
all  to  displease  you.  It  is  why  I  wouldn't  go 
eating  periwinkles,  I'm  in  dread  I  might  swallow 
the  pin. 

Mike  Mclnerney:  Who  in  the  world  wide  is 
asking  you  to  eat  them?  You're  as  tricky  as  a 
fish  in  the  full  tide ! 

Michael  Miskell:  Tricky  is  it!  Oh,  my  curse 
and  the  curse  of  the  four  and  twenty  men  upon 
you! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  That  the  worm  may  chew 
you  from  skin  to  marrow  bone !  (Seizes  his  pillow.} 

Michael  Miskell:  (Seizing  his  own  pillow.}  I'll 
leave  my  death  on  you,  you  scheming  vagabone! 

Mike  Mclnerney:  By  cripes!  I'll  pull  out 
your  pin  feathers!  (Throwing  pillow.} 


154  The  Workhouse  Ward 

Michael  Miskell:     (Throwing  pillow.}    You  ty- 
rant !    You  big  bully  you ! 

Mike  Mclnerney:     (Throwing  pillow  and  seizing 
mug.}    Take  this  so,  you  stobbing  ruffian  you! 

(They  throw  all  within  their  reach  at  one 
another,  mugs,  prayer  books,  pipes,  etc.} 

Curtain 


THE   TRAVELLING   MAN 


PERSONS 
A  Mother. 
A  Child. 
A  Travelling  Man. 


A  MIRACLE  PLAY 

Scene:  A  cottage  kitchen.  A  woman  setting  out 
a  bowl  and  jug  and  board  on  the  table  for 
breadmaking. 

Child:  What  is  it  you  are  going  to  make, 
mother? 

Mother:  I  am  going  to  make  a  grand  cake 
with  white  flour.  Seeds  I  will  put  in  it.  Maybe 
I'll  make  a  little  cake  for  yourself  too.  You  can 
be  baking  it  in  the  little  pot  while  the  big  one  will 
be  baking  in  the  big  pot. 

Child:  It  is  a  pity  daddy  to  be  away  at  the 
fair  on  a  Samhain  night. 

Mother:  I  must  make  my  feast  all  the  same, 
for  Samhain  night  is  more  to  me  than  to  any 
other  one.  It  was  on  this  night  seven  years  I 
first  came  into  this  house. 

Child:  You  will  be  taking  down  those  plates 
from  the  dresser  so,  those  plates  with  flowers 
on  them,  and  be  putting  them  on  the  table. 

Mother:    I  will.    I  will  set  out  the  house  to-day, 


158  The  Travelling  Man 

and  bring  down  the  best  delf,  and  put  whatever 
thing  is  best  on  the  table,  because  of  the  great 
thing  that  happened  me  seven  years  ago. 

Child:    What  great  thing  was  that? 

Mother:  I  was  after  being  driven  out  of  the 
house  where  I  was  a  serving  girl.  .  .  . 

Child:  Where  was  that  house?  Tell  me  about 
it. 

Mother:  (Sitting  down  and  pointing  southward.) 
It  is  over  there  I  was  living,  in  a  farmer's  house 
up  on  Slieve  Echtge,  near  to  Slieve  na  n-Or,  the 
Golden  Mountain. 

Child:  The  Golden  Mountain!  That  must 
be  a  grand  place. 

Mother:  Not  very  grand  indeed,  but  bare 
and  cold  enough  at  that  time  of  the  year.  Anyway, 
I  was  driven  out  a  Samhain  day  like  this,  because 
of  some  things  that  were  said  against  me. 

Child:    What  did  you  do  then? 

Mother:  What  had  I  to  do  but  to  go  walking 
the  bare  bog  road  through  the  rough  hills  where 
there  was  no  shelter  to  find,  and  the  sharp  wind 
going  through  me,  and  the  red  mud  heavy  on  my 
shoes.  I  came  to  Kilbecanty.  .  .  . 

Child:  I  know  Kilbecanty.  That  is  where 
the  woman  in  the  shop  gave  me  sweets  out  of  a 
bottle. 

Mother:  So  she  might  now,  but  that  night  her 
door  was  shut  and  all  the  doors  were  shut;  and  I 


The  Travelling  Man  159 

saw  through  the  windows  the  boys  and  the  girls 
sitting  round  the  hearth  and  playing  their  games, 
and  I  had  no  courage  to  ask  for  shelter.  In  dread 
I  was  they  might  think  some  shameful  thing  of  me, 
and  I  going  the  road  alone  in  the  night-time. 

Child:    Did  you  come  here  after  that? 

Mother:  I  went  on  down  the  hill  in  the  darkness, 
and  with  the  dint  of  my  trouble  and  the  length  of 
the  road  my  strength  failed  me,  and  I  had  like  to 
fall.  So  I  did  fall  at  the  last,  meeting  with  a  heap 
of  broken  stones  by  the  roadside. 

Child:  I  hurt  my  knee  one  time  I  fell  on  the 
stones. 

Mother:  It  was  then  the  great  thing  happened. 
I  saw  a  stranger  coming  towards  me,  a  very  tall 
man,  the  best  I  ever  saw,  bright  and  shining  that 
you  could  see  him  through  the  darkness;  and  I 
knew  him  to  be  no  common  man. 

Child:    Who  was  he? 

Mother:  It  is  what  I  thought,  that  he  was  the 
King  of  the  World. 

Child:    Had  he  a  crown  like  a  King? 

Mother:  If  he  had,  it  was  made  of  the  twigs 
of  a  bare  blackthorn;  but  in  his  hand  he  had  a 
green  branch,  that  never  grew  on  a  tree  of  this 
world.  He  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  he  led  me 
over  the  stepping-stones  outside  to  this  door,  and 
he  bade  me  to  go  in  and  I  would  find  good  shelter. 
I  was  kneeling  down  to  thank  him,  but  he  raised 


160  The  Travelling  Man 

me  up  and  he  said,  "I  will  come  to  see  you  some 
other  time.  And  do  not  shut  up  your  heart  in  the 
things  I  give  you,"  he  said,  "but  have  a  welcome 
before  me." 

Child:    Did  he  go  away  then? 

Mother:  I  saw  him  no  more  after  that,  but  I 
did  as  he  bade  me.  (She  stands  up  and  goes  to 
the  door.}  I  came  in  like  this,  and  your  father  was 
sitting  there  by  the  hearth,  a  lonely  man  that  was 
after  losing  his  wife.  He  was  alone  and  I  was 
alone,  and  we  married  one  another;  and  I  never 
wanted  since  for  shelter  or  safety.  And  a  good 
wife  I  made  him,  and  a  good  housekeeper. 

Child:    Will  the  King  come  again  to  the  house? 

Mother:  I  have  his  word  for  it  he  will  come, 
but  he  did  not  come  yet;  it  is  often  your  father 
and  myself  looked  out  the  door  of  a  Samhain 
night,  thinking  to  see  him. 

Child:  I  hope  he  won't  come  in  the  night  time, 
and  I  asleep. 

Mother:  It  is  of  him  I  do  be  thinking  every 
year,  and  I  setting  out  the  house,  and  making  a 
cake  for  the  supper. 

Child:    What  will  he  do  when  he  comes  in? 

Mother:  He  will  sit  over  there  in  the  chair, 
and  maybe  he  will  taste  a  bit  of  the  cake.  I  will 
call  in  all  the  neighbours;  I  will  tell  them  he  is 
here.  They  will  not  be  keeping  it  in  their  mind 
against  me  then  that  I  brought  nothing,  coming  to 


The  Travelling  Man  161 

the  house.  They  will  know  I  am  before  any  of 
them,  the  time  they  know  who  it  is  has  come  to 
visit  me.  They  will  all  kneel  down  and  ask  for 
his  blessing.  But  the  best  blessing  will  be  on  the 
house  he  came  to  of  himself. 

Child:  And  are  you  going  to  make  the  cake 
now? 

Mother:  I  must  make  it  now  indeed,  or  I  will 
be  late  with  it.  I  am  late  as  it  is;  I  was  expect- 
ing one  of  the  neighbours  to  bring  me  white  flour 
from  the  town.  I'll  wait  no  longer,  I'll  go  borrow 
it  in  some  place.  There  will  be  a  wedding  in  the 
stonecutter's  house  Thursday,  it's  likely  there  will 
be  flour  in  the  house. 

Child:     Let  me  go  along  with  you 

Mother:  It  is  best  for  you  to  stop  here.  Be 
a  good  child  now,  and  don't  be  meddling  with  the 
things  on  the  table.  Sit  down  there  by  the  hearth 
and  break  up  those  little  sticks  I  am  after  bringing 
in.  Make  a  little  heap  of  them  now  before  me,  and 
we  will  make  a  good  fire  to  bake  the  cake.  See 
now  how  many  will  you  break.  Don't  go  out  the 
door  while  I'm  away,  I  would  be  in  dread  of  you 
going  near  the  river  and  it  in  flood.  Behave  your- 
self well  now.  Be  counting  the  sticks  as  you  break 
them. 

(She  goes  out.) 

Child:  (Sitting  down  and  breaking  sticks  across 
his  knee.)  One — and  two — 0  I  can  break  this 


1 62  The  Travelling  Man 

one  into  a  great  many,  one,  two,  three,  four. — This 
one  is  wet — I  don't  like  a  wet  one — five,  six — that 
is  a  great  heap. — Let  me  try  that  great  big  one. — 
That  is  too  hard. — I  don't  think  mother  could 
break  that  one. — Daddy  could  break  it. 

(Half-door  is  opened  and  a  travelling  man 

comes  in.    He  wears  a   ragged  white 

flannel  shirt,  and  mud-stained  trousers. 

He  is  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  and 

carries  a  little  branch  in  his  hand.} 

Travelling  Man:     (Stooping  over  the  child  and 

taking  the  stick.}     Give  it  here  to  me  and  hold  this. 

(He  puts  the  branch  in  the  child's  hand  while 

he  takes  the  stick  and  breaks  it.) 
Child:    That  is  a  good  branch,  apples  on  it  and 
flowers.     The  tree  at   the  mill   has  apples  yet, 
but  all  the  flowers  are  gone.     Where  did  you  get 
this  branch? 

Travelling  Man:  I  got  it  in  a  garden  a  long 
way  off. 

Child:  Where  is  the  garden?  Where  do  you 
come  from? 

Travelling  Man:  (Pointing  southward.)  I  have 
come  from  beyond  those  hills. 

Child:  Is  it  from  the  Golden  Mountain  you  are 
come?  From  Slieve  na  n-Or? 

Travelling  Man:  That  is  where  I  come  from 
surely,  from  the  Golden  Mountain.  I  would 
like  to  sit  down  and  rest  for  a  while. 


The  Travelling  Man  163 

Child:  Sit  down  here  beside  me.  We  must 
not  go  near  the  table  or  touch  anything,  or  mother 
will  be  angry.  Mother  is  going  to  make  a  beauti- 
ful cake,  a  cake  that  will  be  fit  for  a  King  that 
might  be  coming  in  to  our  supper. 

Travelling  Man:  I  will  sit  here  with  you  on  the 
floor. 

(Sits  down.) 

Child:    Tell  me  now  about  the  Golden  Mountain. 

Travelling  Man:  There  is  a  garden  in  it,  and 
there  is  a  tree  in  the  garden  that  has  fruit  and 
flowers  at  the  one  time. 

Child:     Like  this  branch? 

Travelling  Man:    Just  like  that  little  branch. 

Child:    What  other  things  are  in  the  garden? 

Travelling  Man:  There  are  birds  of  all  colours 
that  sing  at  every  hour,  the  way  the  people  will 
come  to  their  prayers.  And  there  is  a  high  wall 
about  the  garden. 

Child:  What  way  can  the  people  get  through 
the  wall? 

Travelling  Man:  There  are  four  gates  in  the 
wall:  a  gate  of  gold,  and  a  gate  of  silver,  and  a 
gate  of  crystal,  and  a  gate  of  white  brass. 

Child:  (Taking  up  the  sticks.}  I  will  make  a 
garden.  I  will  make  a  wall  with  these  sticks. 

Travelling  Man:  This  big  stick  will  make  the 
first  wall. 

(They  build  a  square  wall  with  sticks.) 


164  The  Travelling  Man 

Child:  (Taking  up  branch.)  I  will  put  this  in 
the  middle.  This  is  the  tree.  I  will  get  something 
to  make  it  stand  up.  (Gets  up  and  looks  at  dresser.) 
I  can't  reach  it,  get  up  and  give  me  that  shining 
jug. 

(Travelling  Man  gets  up  and  gives  him  the 


Travelling  Man:    Here  it  is  for  you. 

Child:  (Puts  it  within  the  walls  and  sets  the 
branch  in  it.)  Tell  me  something  else  that  is  in 
the  garden? 

Travelling  Man:  There  are  four  wells  of  water 
in  it,  that  are  as  clear  as  glass. 

Child:  Get  me  down  those  cups,  those  flowery 
cups,  we  will  put  them  for  wells.  (He  hands 
them  down.)  Now  I  will  make  the  gates,  give  me 
those  plates  for  gates,  not  those  ugly  ones,  those 
nice  ones  at  the  top. 

(He  takes  them  down  and  they  put  them  on 
the  four  sides  for  gates.  The  Child  gets 
up  and  looks  at  it.) 

Travelling  Man:    There  now,  it  is  finished. 

Child:  Is  it  as  good  as  the  other  garden? 
How  can  we  go  to  the  Golden  Mountain  to  see  the 
other  garden? 

Travelling  Man:    We  can  ride  to  it. 

Child:    But  we  have  no  horse. 

Travelling  Man:  This  form  will  be  our  horse. 
(He  draws  a  form  out  of  the  corner,  and  sits  down 


The  Travelling  Man  165 

astride  on  it,  putting  the  child  before  him.}     Now, 
off  we  go !     (Sings,  the  child  repeating  the  refrain) — 

Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden, 
Come  ride  and  ride  with  a  will: 

For  the  flower  comes  with  the  fruit  there 
Beyond  a  hill  and  a  hill. 

Refrain 

Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden, 
Come  ride  like  the  March  wind ; 

There's  barley  there,  and  water  there, 
And  stabling  to  your  mind. 

Travelling  Man:    How  did  you  like  that  ride, 
little  horseman? 

Child:    Go  on  again!    I  want  another  ride! 
Travelling  Man  (sings) — 

The  Archangels  stand  in  a  row  there 

And  all  the  garden  bless, 
The  Archangel  Axel,  Victor  the  angel 

Work  at  the  cider  press. 

Refrain 
Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden,  &c. 

Child:    We  will  soon  be  at  the  Golden  Moun- 
tain now.     Ride  again.     Sing  another  song. 


i66  The  Travelling  Man 

Travelling  Man  (sings) — 

O  scent  of  the  broken  apples ! 

O  shuffling  of  holy  shoes! 
Beyond  a  hill  and  a  hill  there 

In  the  land  that  no  one  knows. 

Refrain 
Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden,  &c. 

Child:    Now  another  ride. 

Travelling  Man:  This  will  be  the  last.  It 
will  be  a  good  ride. 

(The  mother  comes  in.  She  stares  for  a 
second,  then  throws  down  her  basket 
and  snatches  up  the  child.) 

Mother:  Did  ever  anyone  see  the  like  of  that! 
A  common  beggar,  a  travelling  man  off  the  roads, 
to  be  holding  the  child !  To  be  leaving  his  ragged 
arms  about  him  as  if  he  was  of  his  own  sort !  Get 
out  of  that,  whoever  you  are,  and  quit  this  house 
or  I'll  call  to  some  that  will  make  you  quit  it. 

Child:  Do  not  send  him  out !  He  is  not  a  bad 
man;  he  is  a  good  man ;  he  was  playing  horses  with 
me.  He  has  grand  songs. 

Mother:  Let  him  get  away  out  of  this  now, 
himself  and  his  share  of  songs.  Look  at  the  way 
he  has  your  bib  destroyed  that  I  was  after  washing 
in  the  morning! 

Child:    He  was  holding  me  on  the  horse.     We 


The  Travelling  Man  167 

were  riding,  I  might  have  fallen.     He  held  me. 

Mother:  I  give  you  my  word  you  are  done 
now  with  riding  horses.  Let  him  go  on  his  road. 
I  have  no  time  to  be  cleaning  the  place  after  the 
like  of  him. 

Child:  He  is  tired.  Let  him  stop  here  till 
evening. 

Travelling  Man:  Let  me  rest  here  for  a  while, 
I  have  been  travelling  a  long  way. 

Mother:    Where  did  you  come  from   to-day? 

Travelling  Man:  I  came  over  Slieve  Echtge 
from  Slieve  na  n-Or.  I  had  no  house  to  stop  in. 
I  walked  the  long  bog  road,  the  wind  was  going 
through  me,  there  was  no  shelter  to  be  got,  the 
red  mud  of  the  road  was  heavy  on  my  feet.  I 
got  no  welcome  in  the  villages,  and  so  I  came  on 
to  this  place,  to  the  rising  of  the  river  at  Ballylee. 

Mother:  It  is  best  for  you  to  go  on  to  the  town. 
It  is  not  far  for  you  to  go.  We  will  maybe  have 
company  coming  in  here. 

(She  pours  out  flour  into  a  bowl  and  begins 
mixing.} 

Travelling  Man:  Will  you  give  me  a  bit  of 
that  dough  to  bring  with  me?  I  have  gone  a 
long  time  fasting. 

Mother:  It  is  not  often  in  the  year  I  make 
bread  like  this.  There  are  a  few  cold  potatoes  on 
the  dresser,  are  they  not  good  enough  for  you? 
There  is  many  a  one  would  be  glad  to  get  them. 


168  The  Travelling  Man 

Travelling  Man:  Whatever  you  will  give  me, 
I  will  take  it. 

Mother:  (Going  to  the  dresser  for  the  potatoes 
and  looking  at  the  shelves.}  What  in  the  earthly 
world  has  happened  all  the  delf?  Where  are  the 
jugs  gone  and  the  plates?  They  were  all  in  it 
when  I  went  out  a  while  ago. 

Child:  (Hanging  his  head.}  We  were  making  a 
garden  with  them.  We  were  making  that  garden 
there  in  the  corner. 

Mother:  Is  that  what  you  were  doing  after  I 
bidding  you  to  sit  still  and  to  keep  yourself  quiet? 
It  is  to  tie  you  in  the  chair  I  will  another  time! 
My  grand  jugs!  (She  picks  them  up  and  wipes 
them.}  My  plates  that  I  bought  the  first  time  I 
ever  went  marketing  into  Gort.  The  best  in  the 
shop  they  were.  (One  slips  from  her  hand  and 
breaks.}  Look  at  that  now,  look  what  you  are 
after  doing. 

(She  gives  a  slap  at  the  child.} 

Travelling  Man:  Do  not  blame  the  child.  It 
was  I  myself  took  them  down  from  the  dresser. 

Mother:  (Turning  on  him.}  It  was  you  took 
them!  What  business  had  you  doing  that?  It's 
the  last  time  a  tramp  or  a  tinker  or  a  rogue  of  the 
roads  will  have  a  chance  of  laying  his  hand  on 
anything  in  this  house.  It  is  jailed  you  should  be! 
What  did  you  want  touching  the  dresser  at  all?  Is 
it  looking  you  were  for  what  you  could  bring  away? 


The  Travelling  Man  169 

Travelling  Man:  (Taking  the  child's  hands.} 
I  would  not  refuse  these  hands  that  were  held  out 
for  them.  If  it  was  for  the  four  winds  of  the  world 
he  had  asked,  I  would  have  put  their  bridles  into 
these  innocent  hands. 

Mother:  (Taking  up  the  jug  and  throwing  the 
branch  on  the  floor.}  Get  out  of  this!  Get  out 
of  this  I  tell  you!  There  is  no  shelter  here  for 
the  like  of  you!  Look  at  that  mud  on  the  floor! 
You  are  not  fit  to  come  into  the  house  of  any 
decent  respectable  person! 

(The  room  begins  to  darken.} 

Travelling  Man:  Indeed,  I  am  more  used  to  the 
roads  than  to  the  shelter  of  houses.  It  is  often  I 
have  spent  the  night  on  the  bare  hills. 

Mother:  No  wonder  in  that!  (She  begins  to 
sweep  floor.}  Go  out  of  this  now  to  whatever 
company  you  are  best  used  to,  whatever  they  are. 
The  worst  of  people  it  is  likely  they  are,  thieves  and 
drunkards  and  shameless  women. 

Travelling  Man:  Maybe  so.  Drunkards  and 
thieves  and  shameless  women,  stones  that  have 
fallen,  that  are  trodden  under  foot,  bodies  that  are 
spoiled  with  sores,  bodies  that  are  worn  with 
fasting,  minds  that  are  broken  with  much  sinning, 
the  poor,  the  mad,  the  bad.  .  .  . 

Mother:  Get  out  with  you!  Go  back  to  your 
friends,  I  say! 

Travelling  Man:    I  will  go.     I  will  go  back  to 


170  The  Travelling  Man 

the  high  road  that  is  walked  by  the  bare  feet  of 
the  poor,  by  the  innocent  bare  feet  of  children.  I 
will  go  back  to  the  rocks  and  the  wind,  to  the  cries 
of  the  trees  in  the  storm !  (He  goes  out.} 

Child:    He  has  forgotten  his  branch! 

(Takes  it  and  follows  him.) 

Mother:  (Still  sweeping.')  My  good  plates  from 
the  dresser,  and  dirty  red  mud  on  the  floor,  and 
the  sticks  all  scattered  in  every  place.  (Stoops 
to  pick  them  up.)  Where  is  the  child  gone? 
(Goes  to  door.)  I  don't  see  him — he  couldn't  have 
gone  to  the  river — it  is  getting  dark — the  bank  is 
slippy.  Come  back!  Come  back!  Where  are 
you?  (Child  runs  in.) 

Mother:  O  where  were  you?  I  was  in  dread 
it  was  to  the  river  you  were  gone,  or  into  the 
river. 

Child:  I  went  after  him.  He  is  gone  over  the 
river. 

Mother:  He  couldn't  do  that.  He  couldn't 
go  through  the  flood. 

Child:  He  did  go  over  it.  He  was  as  if  walking 
on  the  water.  There  was  a  light  before  his  feet. 

Mother:  That  could  not  be  so.  What  put  that 
thought  in  your  mind? 

Child:  I  called  to  him  to  come  back  for  the 
branch,  and  he  turned  where  he  was  in  the  river, 
and  he  bade  me  to  bring  it  back,  and  to  show  it 
to  yourself. 


The  Travelling  Man  171 

Mother:  (Taking  the  branch.)  There  are  fruit 
and  flowers  on  it.  It  is  a  branch  that  is  not  of 
any  earthly  tree.  (Falls  on  her  knees.)  He  is 
gone,  he  is  gone,  and  I  never  knew  him!  He  was 
that  stranger  that  gave  me  all!  He  is  the  King 
of  the  World! 


THE  GAOL  GATE 


173 


PERSONS 

Mary  Cahel  .         .  AN  OLD  WOMAN 

Mary  Cushin         .         HER  DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 
The  Gatekeeper 


174 


THE  GAOL  GATE 

Scene:  Outside  the  gate  of  Galway  Gaol.  Two 
countrywomen,  one  in  a  long  dark  cloak,  the 
other  with  a  shawl  over  her  head,  have  just  come 
in.  It  is  just  before  dawn. 

Mary  Cahel:  I  am  thinking  we  are  come  to 
our  journey's  end,  and  that  this  should  be  the  gate 
of  the  gaol. 

Mary  Cushin:  It  is  certain  it  could  be  no  other 
place.  There  was  surely  never  in  the  world  such 
a  terrible  great  height  of  a  wall. 

Mary  Cahel:  He  that  was  used  to  the  mountain 
to  be  closed  up  inside  of  that !  What  call  had  he 
to  go  moonlighting  or  to  bring  himself  into  danger 
at  all? 

Mary  Cushin:  It  is  no  wonder  a  man  to  grow 
faint-hearted  and  he  shut  away  from  the  light. 
I  never  would  wonder  at  all  at  anything  he  might 
be  driven  to  say. 

Mary  Cahel:  There  were  good  men  were  gaoled 
before  him  never  gave  in  to  anyone  at  all.  It  is 
what  I  am  thinking,  Mary,  he  might  not  have 
done  what  they  say. 

175 


The  Gaol  Gate 


Mary  Cushin:  Sure  you  heard  what  the  neigh- 
bours were  calling  the  time  their  own  boys  were 
brought  away.  "It  is  Denis  Cahel,"  they  were 
saying,  "that  informed  against  them  in  the  gaol." 

Mary  Cahel:  There  is  nothing  that  is  bad  or 
is  wicked  but  a  woman  will  put  it  out  of  her 
mouth,  and  she  seeing  them  that  belong  to  her 
brought  away  from  her  sight  and  her  home. 

Mary  Cushin:  Terry  Fury's  mother  was  saying 
it,  and  Pat  Ruane's  mother  and  his  wife.  They 
came  out  calling  it  after  me,  "It  was  Denis  swore 
against  them  in  the  gaol!"  The  sergeant  was 
boasting,  they  were  telling  me,  the  day  he  came 
searching  Daire-caol,  it  was  he  himself  got  his 
confession  with  drink  he  had  brought  him  in  the 
gaol. 

Mary  Cahel:  They  might  have  done  that,  the 
ruffians,  and  the  boy  have  no  blame  on  him  at  all. 
Why  should  it  be  cast  up  against  him,  and  his 
wits  being  out  of  him  with  drink? 

Mary  Cushin:  If  he  did  give  their  names  up 
itself,  there  was  maybe  no  wrong  in  it  at  all. 
Sure  it's  known  to  all  the  village  it  was  Terry  that 
fired  the  shot. 

Mary  Cahel:  Stop  your  mouth  now  and  don't 
be  talking.  You  haven't  any  sense  worth  while. 
Let  the  sergeant  do  his  own  business  with  no 
help  from  the  neighbours  at  all. 

Mary  Cushin:    It  was  Pat  Ruane  that  tempted 


The  Gaol  Gate  177 

them  on  account  of  some  vengeance  of  his  own. 
Every  creature  knows  my  poor  Denis  never 
handled  a  gun  in  his  life. 

Mary  Cahel:  (Taking  from  under  her  cloak  a 
long  blue  envelope.}  I  wish  we  could  know  what 
is  in  the  letter  they  are  after  sending  us  through 
the  post.  Isn't  it  a  great  pity  for  the  two  of  us 
to  be  without  learning  at  all? 

Mary  Cushin:  There  are  some  of  the  neigh- 
bours have  learning,  and  you  bade  me  not  bring 
it  anear  them.  It  would  maybe  have  told  us 
what  way  he  is  or  what  time  he  will  be  quitting  the 
gaol. 

Mary  Cahel:  There  is  wonder  on  me,  Mary 
Cushin,  that  you  would  not  be  content  with 
what  I  say.  It  might  be  they  put  down  in  the 
letter  that  Denis  informed  on  the  rest. 

Mary  Cushin:  I  suppose  it  is  all  we  have  to 
do  so,  to  stop  here  for  the  opening  of  the  door. 
It's  a  terrible  long  road  from  Slieve  Echtge  we 
were  travelling  the  whole  of  the  night. 

Mary  Cahel:  There  was  no  other  thing  for 
us  to  do  but  to  come  and  to  give  him  a  warning. 
What  way  would  he  be  facing  the  neighbours, 
and  he  to  come  back  to  Daire-caol? 

Mary  Cushin:  It  is  likely  they  will  let  him 
go  free,  Mary,  before  many  days  will  be  out. 
What  call  have  they  to  be  keeping  him?  It  is 
certain  they  promised  him  his  life. 

12 


178  The  Gaol  Gate 

Mary  Cdhel:  If  they  promised  him  his  life, 
Mary  Cushin,  he  must  live  it  in  some  other  place. 
Let  him  never  see  Daire-caol  again,  or  Daroda  or 
Druimdarod. 

Mary  Cushin:  O,  Mary,  what  place  will  we 
bring  him  to,  and  we  driven  from  the  place  that 
we  know?  What  person  that  is  sent  among 
strangers  can  have  one  day's  comfort  on  earth? 

Mary  Cahel:  It  is  only  among  strangers,  I 
am  thinking,  he  could  be  hiding  his  story  at  all. 
It  is  best  for  him  to  go  to  America,  where  the 
people  are  as  thick  as  grass. 

Mary  Cushin:  What  way  could  he  go  to  Amer- 
ica and  he  having  no  means  in  his  hand?  There's 
himself  and  myself  to  make  the  voyage  and  the 
little  one-een  at  home. 

Mary  Cahel:  I  would  sooner  to  sell  the  holding 
than  to  ask  for  the  price  paid  for  blood.  There'll 
be  money  enough  for  the  two  of  you  to  settle  your 
debts  and  to  go. 

Mary  Cushin:  And  what  would  yourself  be 
doing  and  we  to  go  over  the  sea?  It  is  not  among 
the  neighbours  you  would  wish  to  be  ending  your 
days. 

Mary  Cahel:  I  am  thinking  there  is  no  one 
would  know  me  in  the  workhouse  at  Oughterard. 
I  wonder  could  I  go  in  there,  and  I  not  to  give 
them  my  name? 

Mary  Cushin:    Ah,  don't  be  talking  foolishness. 


The  Gaol  Gate  179 

What  way  could  I  bring  the  child?  Sure  he's 
hardly  out  of  the  cradle ;  he'd  be  lost  out  there  in 
the  States. 

Mary  Cahel:  I  could  bring  him  into  the  work- 
house, I  to  give  him  some  other  name.  You  could 
send  for  him  when  you'd  be  settled  or  have  some 
place  of  your  own. 

Mary  Cushin:  It  is  very  cold  at  the  dawn.  It 
is  time  for  them  open  the  door.  I  wish  I  had 
brought  a  potato  or  a  bit  of  a  cake  or  of  bread. 

Mary  Cahel:  I'm  in  dread  of  it  being  opened 
and  not  knowing  what  will  we  hear.  The  night 
that  Denis  was  taken  he  had  a  great  cold  and  a 
cough. 

Mary  Cushin:  I  think  I  hear  some  person  com- 
ing. There's  a  sound  like  the  rattling  of  keys. 
God  and  His  Mother  protect  us!  I'm  in  dread  of 
being  found  here  at  all! 

(The  gate  is  opened,  and  the  Gatekeeper  is  seen 
with  a  lantern  in  his  hand.} 

Gatekeeper:  What  are  you  doing  here,  women? 
It's  no  place  to  be  spending  the  night  time. 

Mary  Cahel:  It  is  to  speak  with  my  son  I  am 
asking,  that  is  gaoled  these  eight  weeks  and  a 
day. 

Gatekeeper:  If  you  have  no  order  to  visit  him 
it's  as  good  for  you  go  away  home. 

Mary  Cahel:  I  got  this  letter  ere  yesterday.  It 
might  be  it  is  giving  me  leave. 


i8o  The  Gaol  Gate 

Gatekeeper:  If  that's  so  he  should  be  under  the 
doctor,  or  in  the  hospital  ward. 

Mary  Cahel:  It's  no  wonder  if  he's  down  with 
the  hardship,  for  he  had  a  great  cough  and  a  cold. 

Gatekeeper:  Give  me  here  the  letter  to  read  it. 
Sure  it  never  was  opened  at  all. 

Mary  Cahel:  Myself  and  this  woman  have  no 
learning.  We  were  loth  to  trust  any  other  one. 

Gatekeeper:  It  was  posted  in  Galway  the 
twentieth,  and  this  is  the  last  of  the  month. 

Mary  Cahel:  We  never  thought  to  call  at  the 
post  office.  It  was  chance  brought  it  to  us  in  the 
end. 

Gatekeeper:  (Having  read  letter.}  You  poor 
unfortunate  women,  don't  you  know  Denis  Cahel 
is  dead?  You'd  a  right  to  come  this  time  yester- 
day if  you  wished  any  last  word  at  all. 

Mary  Cahel:  (Kneeling  down.}  God  and  His 
Mother  protect  us  and  have  mercy  on  Denis's 
soul! 

Mary  Cushin:  What  is  the  man  after  saying? 
Sure  it  cannot  be  Denis  is  dead? 

Gatekeeper:  Dead  since  the  dawn  of  yesterday, 
and  another  man  now  in  his  cell.  I'll  go  see  who 
has  charge  of  his  clothing  if  you're  wanting  to 
bring  it  away. 

(He  goes  in.     The  dawn  has  begun  to  break) 

Mary  Cahel:  There  is  lasting  kindness  in 
Heaven  when  no  kindness  is  found  upon  earth. 


The  Gaol  Gate  181 

There  will  surely  be  mercy  found  for  him,  and 
not  the  hard  judgment  of  men!  But  my  boy 
that  was  best  in  the  world,  that  never  rose  a  hair 
of  my  head,  to  have  died  with  his  name  under 
blemish,  and  left  a  great  shame  on  his  child! 
Better  for  him  have  killed  the  whole  world  than  to 
give  any  witness  at  all !  Have  you  no  word  to  say, 
Mary  Cushin?  Am  I  left  here  to  keen  him  alone? 

Mary  Cushin:  (Who  has  sunk  on  to  the  step 
before  the  door,  rocking  herself  and  keening.}  Oh, 
Denis,  my  heart  is  broken  you  to  have  died  with 
the  hard  word  upon  you!  My  grief  you  to  be 
alone  now  that  spent  so  many  nights  in  company! 

What  way  will  I  be  going  back  through  Gort 
and  through  Kilbecanty?  The  people  will  not  be 
coming  out  keening  you,  they  will  say  no  prayer 
for  the  rest  of  your  soul! 

What  way  will  I  be  the  Sunday  and  I  going  up 
the  hill  to  the  Mass?  Every  woman  with  her  own 
comrade,  and  Mary  Cushin  to  be  walking  her  lone ! 

What  way  will  I  be  the  Monday  and  the  neigh- 
bours turning  their  heads  from  the  house?  The 
turf  Denis  cut  lying  on  the  bog,  and  no  well-wisher 
to  bring  it  to  the  hearth ! 

What  way  will  I  be  in  the  night  time,  and  none 
but  the  dog  calling  after  you?  Two  women  to 
be  mixing  a  cake,  and  not  a  man  in  the  house  to 
break  it! 

What  way  will  I  sow  the  field,  and  no  man  to 


182  The  Gaol  Gate 

drive  the  furrow?  The  sheaf  to  be  scattered 
before  springtime  that  was  brought  together  at 
the  harvest ! 

I  would  not  begrudge  you,  Denis,  and  you 
leaving  praises  after  you.  The  neighbours  keening 
along  with  me  would  be  better  to  me  than  an 
estate. 

But  my  grief  your  name  to  be  blackened  in 
the  time  of  the  blackening  of  the  rushes!  Your 
name  never  to  rise  up  again  in  the  growing  time 
of  the  year!  (She  ceases  keening  and  turns  towards 
the  old  woman.)  But  tell  me,  Mary,  do  you  think 
would  they  give  us  the  body  of  Denis?  I  would 
lay  him  out  with  myself  only;  I  would  hire  some 
man  to  dig  the  grave. 

(The  Gatekeeper  opens  the  gate  and  hands 
out  some  clothes.) 

Gatekeeper:  There  now  is  all  he  brought  in  with 
him;  the  flannels  and  the  shirt  and  the  shoes.  It 
is  little  they  are  worth  altogether;  those  moun- 
tainy  boys  do  be  poor. 

Mary  Cushin:  They  had  a  right  to  give  him 
time  to  ready  himself  the  day  they  brought  him 
to  the  magistrates.  He  to  be  wearing  his  Sunday 
coat,  they  would  see  he  was  a  decent  boy.  Tell 
me  where  will  they  bury  him,  the  way  I  can  follow 
after  him  through  the  street?  There  is  no  other 
one  to  show  respect  to  him  but  Mary  Cahel,  his 
mother,  and  myself. 


The  Gaol  Gate  183 

Gatekeeper:  That  is  not  to  be  done.  He  is 
buried  since  yesterday  in  the  field  that  is  belonging 
to  the  gaol. 

Mary  Cushin:  It  is  a  great  hardship  that  to 
have  been  done,  and  not  one  of  his  own  there  to 
follow  after  him  at  all. 

Gatekeeper:  Those  that  break  the  law  must  be 
made  an  example  of.  Why  would  they  be  laid 
out  like  a  well  behaved  man?  A  long  rope  and  a 
short  burying,  that  is  the  order  for  a  man  that  is 
hanged. 

Mary  Cushin:  A  man  that  was  hanged!  O 
Denis,  was  it  they  that  made  an  end  of  you  and  not 
the  great  God  at  all?  His  curse  and  my  own 
curse  upon  them  that  did  not  let  you  die  on  the 
pillow!  The  curse  of  God  be  fulfilled  that  was 
on  them  before  they  were  born !  My  curse  upon 
them  that  brought  harm  on  you,  and  on  Terry 
Fury  that  fired  the  shot! 

Mary  Cahel:  (Standing  up.)  And  the  other 
boys,  did  they  hang  them  along  with  him,  Terry 
Fury  and  Pat  Ruane  that  were  brought  from 
Daire-caol? 

Gatekeeper:  They  did  not,  but  set  them  free 
twelve  hours  ago.  It  is  likely  you  may  have 
passed  them  in  the  night  time. 

Mary  Cushin:  Set  free  is  it,  and  Denis  made 
an  end  of?  What  justice  is  there  in  the  world 
at  all? 


1 84  The  Gaol  Gate 

Gatekeeper:  He  was  taken  near  the  house.  They 
knew  his  footmark.  There  was  no  witness  given 
against  the  rest  worth  while. 

Mary  Cahel:  Then  the  sergeant  was  lying 
and  the  people  were  lying  when  they  said  Denis 
Cahel  had  informed  in  the  gaol? 

Gatekeeper:  I  have  no  time  to  be  stopping  here 
talking.  The  judge  got  no  evidence  and  the  law 
set  them  free. 

(He  goes  in  and  shuts  gate  after  him.} 

Mary  Cahel:  (Holding  out  her  hands.}  Are 
there  any  people  in  the  streets  at  all  till  I  call  on 
them  to  come  hither?  Did  they  ever  hear  in  Gal- 
way  such  a  thing  to  be  done,  a  man  to  die  for  his 
neighbour? 

Tell  it  out  in  the  streets  for  the  people  to  hear, 
Denis  Cahel  from  Slieve  Echtge  is  dead.  It  was 
Denis  Cahel  from  Daire-caol  that  died  in  the 
place  of  his  neighbour! 

It  is  he  was  young  and  comely  and  strong,  the 
best  reaper  and  the  best  hurler.  It  was  not  a 
little  thing  for  him  to  die,  and  he  protecting  his 
neighbour! 

Gather  up,  Mary  Cushin,  the  clothes  for  your 
child;  they'll  be  wanted  by  this  one  and  that  one. 
The  boys  crossing  the  sea  in  the  springtime  will  be 
craving  a  thread  for  a  memory. 

One  word  to  the  judge  and  Denis  was  free,  they 
offered  him  all  sorts  of  riches.  They  brought  him 


The  Gaol  Gate  185 

drink  in  the  gaol,  and  gold,  to  swear  away  the 
life  of  his  neighbour! 

Pat  Ruane  was  no  good  friend  to  him  at  all, 
but  a  foolish,  wild  companion ;  it  was  Terry  Fury 
knocked  a  gap  in  the  wall  and  sent  in  the  calves  to 
our  meadow. 

Denis  would  not  speak,  he  shut  his  mouth,  he 
would  never  be  an  informer.  It  is  no  lie  he  would 
have  said  at  all  giving  witness  against  Terry  Fury. 

I  will  go  through  Gort  and  Kilbecanty  and 
Druimdarod  and  Daroda ;  I  will  call  to  the  people 
and  the  singers  at  the  fairs  to  make  a  great  praise 
for  Denis! 

The  child  he  left  in  the  house  that  is  shook, 
it  is  great  will  be  his  boast  in  his  father!  All 
Ireland  will  have  a  welcome  before  him,  and  all  the 
people  in  Boston. 

I  to  stoop  on  a  stick  through  half  a  hundred 

years,  I  will  never  be  tired  with  praising!     Come 

hither,  Mary  Cushin,  till  we'll  shout  it  through 

the  roads,  Denis  Cahel  died  for  his  neighbour! 

(She  goes  off  to  the  left,  Mary  Cushin  following 

her.} 

Curtain 


MUSIC       FOR       THE 
SONGS  IN  THE   PLAYS 

NOTES      AND      CASTS 


MUSIC   FOR    THE   SONGS   IN 
THE   PLAYS 


THE  RED-HAIRED  MAN'S  WIFE 

f  the  Nevs. 
I     thought,     my  first  love,  there'd  be    but   one  house 


be-tween     you       and    me,       And 


would        find    your  •  self         coax    •    ing 


3 


__^_ 
ray    child     on   your  knee.        O    •    ver     the     tide 

t    would   leap     with    the    leap      of  a    swan, 


Till        t          came 


to 


the 


side 


the       wife 


of      the     red*  haired     man. 


189 


190  Music  for  the  Songs 


GRANUAILE 

TTif  Kiting  of  the  Moo*. 

fcrfc 


1 


As  through  the    hills        I      walked    to   view    the 


m 


•0 ^« 


bills  and  sham-rock    plain,     I    stood   a  •  while  where 


fe£ 


na  •  ture  smiles    to        view    the        rocks      and 


# 


streams.    On      a      ma-tron  fair     I    fixed  my  eyes    be- 


S 


^t~# 
ncath   a   fer-tile  vale,  As  she  sang  her  song  —  it  was 


00    the  wrong  Of     poor  old  Gran  »  u      •       aile. 


Music  for  the  Songs  191 


fe^feE 


ps 


Her    bead  was    bare,       her       bands  and  feet  with 


i  -  ron   bands   were  bound,  Her  pen  •  sive  strain  and 


plain  •  live  wail  mihg-les       with     the     eve  •  ning 


gale,     And  the  song  she  sang  with  mourn-ful  air,     I 


^^ 


am  old  Gran  •  u  •  aile,  Her    lips    so     sweet     that 


Et 


mon-archs  kissed—' 


192  Music  for  the  Songs 


JOHNNY ~ HART 

TTie  Rising  of  the  Moon. 


There  was    '  a       rici)      far  •  men's  daugb  •  ter    lived 


near  the  town    of    Ross;    She    court-ed     a  High-land 


Sol  •  dier,  His  name  was  John* ny    Hart;   Says  the 


moth-er     to    her  daugh-ter,  "  1*11     go    dls  •  tract  •  ed 


tnad  If      700          mar  •  ry     that  High  •  land 


^i     r 


sol^-  dier  dressed  op     in     his  High-land  plaid.". 


Music  for  the  Songs  193 


THE  RISING  OP  THE   MOON 


O,  then,   tell  me,  Sbawo    O*    Far  •  reO,  where  the 


gath'ring      is     to      be.      Id    the     old   spot    by    the 


# 


-K K- 


ri  •  ver,    Right  well    known     to     you     and       me. 


One  word  more,   for    sig  •  nal       to  •  ken    whis  •  tie 


up  'the  march -ing  tune,  With  your  pike    up  •  on   your 


should -er       at      the        ris  •  iag      of      the    mooo. 


J94  Music  for  the  Songs 


GAOL. GATE 


^j—  -n 

i       i       i 

1  1  —  [ 

fc=fe±d 

^  j-J- 

=^—  . 

J-...J3 

What         way     will       I        be       the     Sun  .  day 


And       I       go  -  ing       op      the          hill  to      the 


Mass,    Ev'  .  ry        wo  •  man  with  her  own    com  •  rade 


And  Ma-ry  Cuah  -  in     to    be     walk  •  ing   her   lone. 


Spoken. 


What    way— drive    the    furrow? 


The 


tp     be     scat-tered     be  •  fore  spring-time    that 


Music  for  the  Songs  195 


f*=i 

—  j- 

J  — 

i 

—  r~f 

W—  J 

<s)  — 

S£ 

1-3—  j  3—  J-l 

=3= 

53E3 

was  brought  to  •  getb  •  er      at      the     bar  •  vest ! 
Spoken.  Singf. 


I    would    not— an  estate. 


But     my 


grief      your     name     to       be      black    •    ened      in 


the  time    of    the   black  -'rung     of     the     rush  •  es 


Your 


name 


nev  •  er     to          rise          up       a  .  gain      In     the 


.  U   IT 1  i      .        ,*• "^  >-<  -    ^    i  • 


time 


Of      •       •      the  /ear. 


NOTES 

SPREADING  THE  NEWS 

THE  idea  of  this  play  first  came  to  me  as  a  tragedy. 
I  kept  seeing  as  in  a  picture  people  sitting  by  the 
roadside,  and  a  girl  passing  to  the  market,  gay  and 
fearless.  And  then  I  saw  her  passing  by  the  same 
place  at  evening,  her  head  hanging,  the  heads  of 
others  turned  from  her,  because  of  some  sudden 
story  that  had  risen  out  of  a  chance  word,  and  had 
snatched  away  her  good  name. 

But  comedy  and  not  tragedy  was  wanted  at  our 
theatre  to  put  beside  the  high  poetic  work,  The 
King's  Threshold,  The  Shadowy  Waters,  On  Bailees 
Strand,  The  Well  of  the  Saints;  and  I  let  laughter 
have  its  way  with  the  little  play.  I  was  delayed  in 
beginning  it  for  a  while,  because  I  could  only  think 
of  Bartley  Fallen  as  dull-witted  or  silly  or  ignorant, 
and  the  handcuffs  seened  too  harsh  a  punishment. 
But  one  day  by  the  sea  at  Duras  a  melancholy  man 
who  was  telling  me  of  the  crosses  he  had  gone  through 
at  home  said — "But  I'm  thinking  if  I  went  to 
America,  its  long  ago  to-day  I'd  be  dead.  And  its 
a  great  expense  for  a  poor  man  to  be  buried  in 
America."  Bartley  was  born  at  that  moment,  and, 

196 


Notes  197 

far  from  harshness,  I  felt  I  was  providing  him  with 
a  happy  old  age  in  giving  him  the  lasting  glory  of 
that  great  and  crowning  day  of  nrsfortune. 

It  has  been  acted  very  often  by  other  companies 
as  well  as  our  own,  and  the  Boers  have  done  me  the 
honour  of  translating  and  pirating  it. 


HYACINTH   HALVEY 

I  WAS  pointed  out  one  evening  a  well-brushed, 
well-dressed  man  in  the  stalls,  and  was  told  gossip 
about  him,  perhaps  not  all  true,  which  made  me 
wonder  if  that  appearance  and  behaviour  as  of 
extreme  respectability  might  not  now  and  again  be 
felt  a  burden. 

After  a  while  he  translated  himself  in  my  mind 
into  Hyacinth;  and  as  one  must  set  one's  original 
a  little  way  off  to  get  a  translation  rather  than  a 
tracing,  he  found  himself  in  Cloon,  where,  as  in  other 
parts  of  our  country,  "character"  is  built  up  or  de- 
stroyed by  a  password  or  an  emotion,  rather  than  by 
experience  and  deliberation. 

The  idea  was  more  of  a  universal  one  than  I  knew 
at  the  first,  and  I  have  had  but  uneasy  appreciation 
from  some  apparently  blameless  friends. 

THE  RISING  OF  THE   MOON 

When  I  was  a  child  and  came  with  my  elders  to 
Galway  for  their  salmon  fishing  in  the  river  that 


198  Notes 

rushes  past  the  gaol,  I  used  to  look  with  awe  at  the 
window  where  men  were  hung,  and  the  dark,  closed 
gate.  I  used  to  wonder  if  ever  a  prisoner  might  by 
some  means  climb  the  high,  buttressed  wall  and 
slip  away  in  the  darkness  by  the  canal  to  the  quays 
and  find  friends  to  hide  him  under  a  load  of  kelp  in  a 
fishing  boat,  as  happens  to  my  ballad-singing  man. 
The  play  was  considered  offensive  to  some  extreme 
Nationalists  before  it  was  acted,  because  it  showed 
the  police  in  too  favourable  a  light,  and  a  Unionist 
paper  attacked  it  after  it  was  acted  because  the  police- 
man was  represented  "as  a  coward  and  a  traitor"; 
but  after  the  Belfast  police  strike  that  same  paper 
praised  its  "insight  into  Irish  character."  After  all 
these  ups  and  downs  it  passes  unchallenged  on  both 
sides  of  the  Irish  Sea. 

THE  JACKDAW 

The  first  play  I  wrote  was  called  "Twenty-five." 
It  was  played  by  our  company  in  Dublin  and  London, 
and  was  adapted  and  translated  into  Irish  and  played 
in  America.  It  was  about  "A  boy  of  Kilbecanty 
that  saved  his  old  sweetheart  from  being  evicted. 
It  was  playing  Twenty-five  he  did  it;  played  with 
the  husband  he  did,  letting  him  win  up  to  £50. " 

It  was  rather  sentimental  and  weak  in  construction, 
and  for  a  long  time  it  was  an  overflowing  storehouse 
of  examples  of  "the  faults  of  my  dramatic  method." 
I  have  at  last  laid  its  ghost  in  "The  Jackdaw, "  and  I 
have  not  been  accused  of  sentimentality  since  the 
appearance  of  this. 


Notes  199 

THE  WORKHOUSE  WARD 

I  heard  of  an  old  man  in  the  workhouse  who  had 
been  disabled  many  years  before  by,  I  think,  a  knife 
thrown  at  him  by  his  wife  in  some  passionate  quarrel. 

One  day  I  heard  the  wife  had  been  brought  in  there, 
poor  and  sick.  I  wondered  how  they  would  meet,  and 
if  the  old  quarrel  was  still  alive,  or  if  they  who  knew 
the  worst  of  each  other  would  be  better  pleased  with 
one  another's  company  than  with  that  of  strangers. 

I  wrote  a  scenario  of  the  play,  Dr.  Douglas  Hyde, 
getting  in  plot  what  he  gave  back  in  dialogue,  for  at 
that  time  we  thought  a  dramatic  movement  in  Irish 
would  be  helpful  to  our  own  as  well  as  to  the  Gaelic 
League.  Later  I  tried  to  rearrange  it  for  our  own 
theatre,  and  for  three  players  only,  but  in  doing  this 
I  found  it  necessary  to  write  entirely  new  dialogue, 
the  two  old  men  in  the  original  play  obviously  talking 
at  an  audience  in  the  wards,  which  is  no  longer  there. 

I  sometimes  think  the  two  scolding  paupers  are  a 
symbol  of  ourselves  in  Ireland — 1p  F^Apf  impeaf  na 
udigneaf — "it  is  better  to  be  quarrelling  than  to  be 
lonesome."  The  Rajputs,  that  great  fighting  race, 
when  they  were  told  they  had  been  brought  under 
the  Pax  Britannica  and  must  give  up  war,  gave 
themselves  to  opium  in  its  place,  but  Connacht  has 
not  yet  planted  its  poppy  gardens. 

THE  TRAVELLING  MAN 
An  old  woman  living  in  a  cabin  by  a  bog  road  on 


200  Notes 

Slieve  Echtge  told  me  the  legend  on  which  this  play 
is  founded,  and  which  I  have  already  published  in 
"Poets  and  Dreamers." 

"There  was  a  poor  girl  walking  the  road  one  night 
with  no  place  to  stop,  and  the  Saviour  met  her  on  the 
road,  and  He  said — 'Go  up  to  the  house  you  see  a 
light  in;  there's  a  woman  dead  there,  and  they'll 
let  you  in.'  So  she  went,  and  she  found  the  woman 
laid  out,  and  the  husband  and  other  people;  but  she 
worked  harder  than  they  all,  and  she  stopped  in  the 
house  after;  and  after  two  quarters  the  man  married 
her.  And  one  day  she  was  sitting  outside  the  door, 
picking  over  a  bag  of  wheat,  and  the  Saviour  came 
again,  with  the  appearance  of  a  poor  man,  and  He 
asked  her  for  a  few  grains  of  the  wheat.  And  she 
said — 'Wouldn't  potatoes  be  good  enough  for  you?' 
And  she  called  to  the  girl  within  to  bring  out  a  few 
potatoes.  But  He  took  nine  grains  of  the  wheat  in 
His  hand  and  went  away;  and  there  wasn't  a  grain 
of  wheat  left  in  the  bag,  but  all  gone.  So  she  ran 
after  Him  then  to  ask  Him  to  forgive  her;  and  she 
overtook  Him  on  the  road,  and  she  asked  forgiveness. 
And  He  said — '  Don't  you  remember  the  time  you  had 
no  house  to  go  to,  and  I  met  you  on  the  road,  and  sent 
you  to  a  house  where  you'd  live  in  plenty?  And 
now  you  wouldn't  give  Me  a  few  grains  of  wheat.' 
And  she  said — '  But  why  didn't  you  give  me  a  heart 
that  would  like  to  divide  it?'  That  is  how  she  came 
round  on  Him.  And  He  said — 'From  this  out,  when- 
ever you  have  plenty  in  your  hands,  divide  it  freely 
for  My  sake.'" 


Notes  201 

And  an  old  woman  who  sold  sweets  in  a  little  shop 
in  Galway,  and  whose  son  became  a  great  Dominican 
preacher,  used  to  say — "Refuse  not  any,  for  one  may 
be  the  Christ." 

I  owe  the  Rider's  Song,  and  some  of  the  rest,  to 
W.  B.  Yeats. 


THE  GAOL  GATE 

I  was  told  a  story  some  one  had  heard,  of  a  man 
who  had  gone  to  welcome  his  brother  coming  out 
of  gaol,  and  heard  he  had  died  there  before  the  gates 
had  been  opened  for  him. 

I  was  going  to  Galway,  and  at  the  Gort  station  I 
met  two  cloaked  and  shawled  countrywomen  from 
the  slopes  of  Slieve  Echtge,  who  were  obliged  to  go 
and  see  some  law  official  in  Galway  because  of  some 
money  left  them  by  a  kinsman  in  Australia.  They 
had  never  been  in  a  train  or  to  any  place  farther  than 
a  few  miles  from  their  own  village,  and  they  felt  astray 
and  terrified  "like  blind  beasts  in  a  bog"  they  said, 
and  I  took  care  of  them  through  the  day. 

An  agent  was  fired  at  on  the  road  from  Athenry,  and 
some  men  were  taken  up  on  suspicion.  One  of  them 
was  a  young  carpenter  from  my  old  home,  and  in  a 
little  time  a  rumour  was  put  about  that  he  had  in- 
formed against  the  others  in  Galway  gaol.  When  the 
prisoners  were  taken  across  the  bridge  to  the  court- 
house he  was  hooted  by  the  crowd.  But  at  the  trial 
it  was  found  that  he  had  not  informed,  that  no  evi- 


202  Notes 

dence  had  been  given  at  all ;  and  bonfires  were  lighted 
for  him  as  he  went  home. 

These  three  incidents  coming  within  a  few  months 
wove  themselves  into  this  little  play,  and  within 
three  days  it  had  written  itself,  or  been  written.  I 
like  it  better  than  any  in  the  volume,  and  I  have 
never  changed  a  word  of  it. 


SPREADING  THE  NEWS  was  produced  for  the  first  time 
at  the  opening  of  the  Abbey  Theatre,  on  Tuesday, 
27th  December,  1904,  with  the  following  cast: 

Bartley  Fallon W.  G.  FAY 

Mrs.  Fallon  .....     SARA    ALGOOD 

Mrs.  Tully EMMA  VERNON 

Mrs.  Tarpey  .         .         MAIRE  Ni  GHARBHAIGH 

Shawn  Early  .         .         .  J.  H.  DUNNE 

Tim  Casey  ....  GEORGE  ROBERTS 
James  Ryan  ....  ARTHUR  SINCLAIR 
Jack  Smith  .  .  .  .  P.  MACSUIBHLAIGH 

A  Policeman R.  S.  NASH 

A  Removable  Magistrate  .         .         .         .     F.  J.  FAY 

HYACINTH  HALVEY  was  first  produced  at  the  Abbey 
Theatre  on  iQth  February,  1906, with  the  following  cast : 

Hyacinth  Halvey F.  J.  FAY 

James  Quirke,  a  butcher  ....  W.  G.  FAY 
Fardy  Farrell,  a  telegraph  boy  .  ARTHUR  SINCLAIR 
Sergeant  Garden  .  .  .  WALTER  MAGEE 
Mrs.  Delane,  Postmistress  at  Cloon  .  SARA  ALLGOOD 
Miss  Joyce,  the  Priest's  House-keeper 

BRIGIT  O'DEMPSEY 
203 


2O4  First  Productions 

THE  GAOL  GATE  was  first  produced  at  the  Abbey 
Theatre,  Dublin,  on  2Oth  October,  1906,  with  the 
following  cast: 

Mary  Cahel SARA  ALLGOOD 

Mary  Cushin  ....  MAIRE  O'NEILL 
The  Gate  Keeper  ....  F.  J.  FAY 

THE  JACKDAW  was  first  produced  at  the  Abbey 
Theatre,  Dublin,  on  2$rd  February,  1907,  with  the 
following  cast : 

Joseph  Nestor  ....           F.    J.    FAY 

Michael  Cooney  .          .          .          .         W.    G.    FAY 

Mrs.  Broderick  ....     SARA  ALLGOOD 

Tommy  Nally  .         .         .         ARTHUR  SINCLAIR 

Sibby  Fahy    .  .         .         .     BRIGIT    O'DEMPSEY 

Timothy  Ward  .         .         .          J.  M.  KERRIGAN 

THE  RISING  OF  THE  MOON  was  first  produced  at  the 
Abbey  Theatre,  Dublin,  on  9th  March,  1907,  with 
the  following  cast : 

Sergeant  ....  ARTHUR  SINCLAIR 
Policeman  X.  .  .  J.  A.  O'RouRKE 
Policeman  B.  .  .  .  J.  M.  KERRIGAN 
Ballad  Singer W.  G.  FAY 

WORKHOUSE  WARD  was  first  produced  at  the  Abbey 
Theatre,  Dublin,  on  2Oth  April,  1908,  with  the  fol- 
lowing cast: 

Mike  M'Inerney  .  .  .  ARTHUR  SINCLAIR 
Michael  Miskell  .  .  .  FRED  O' DONOVAN 
Mrs.  Donahue  MARIE  O'NEILL 


^  Selection  from,  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Complete  Catalogue 
on  application 


The  Supernatural  in 
Modern  English  Fiction 

By 

Dorothy  Scarborough 

In  a  style  brilliant  and  incisive,  the  author 
has  written  a  book  that,  in  these  days 
when  the  occult  is  receiving  so  much  serious 
attention,  should  appeal  not  only  to  those 
interested  in  literary  history,  but,  to  all 
who  have  faith  that  there  are  forces  about 
us,  as  yet  imperfectly  explored,  it  is  true, 
that  partake  of  the  supernatural.  While 
paying  tribute  to  the  convincing  achieve- 
ments in  this  division  of  fiction  the  author 
has  been  quick  to  detect  the  literary  char- 
latan and  to  expose  his  lack  of  sincerity 
with  her  keen  comments. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The  Golden  Apple 

A  Kiliartan  Play  for  Children 

•r 

Lady  Gregory 

Author  of  "  Seven  Short  Plays  " 

"Our  Irish  Theatre" 
"  Irish  Folk-History  Plays,  "  etc. 

8°    Eight  fall-page  Illustrations  in  color 

This  play  deals  with  the  adventures 
of  the  King  of  Ireland's  son,  who  goes 
in  search  of  the  Golden  Apple  of  Heal- 
ing. The  scenes  are  laid  in  the  Witch's 
Garden,  the  Giant's  House,  the  Wood 
of  Wonders,  and  the  King  of  Ireland's 
Room.  It  is  both  humorous  and  lyrical, 
and  should  please  children  and  their 
elders,  alike.  The  colored  illustrations 
have  the  same  old  faery-tale  air  as  the 
play  itself. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Visions  and  Beliefs  in 
the  West  of  Ireland 

By 

Lady  Gregory 

With  Two  Essays  and  Notes  by  W.  B.  Yeats 

Ttvo  Volumes.     12° 

To  those  who  have  felt  the  haunting  charm 
that  inheres  in  the  Celtic  consciousness  of  an 
imminent  superaaturalisrn,  this  collection  of 
Irish  fancy,  belief,  and  folk-lore,  gathered  from 
the  lips  of  the  people  with  patient  and  reverent 
care,  will  have  particular  value.  It  has  interest 
as  an  exceptionally  thorough  and  representa- 
tive study  of  psychic  sensitiveness  in  Ireland, 
and  the  slightness  of  the  barrier  between  worlds 
seen  and  unseen. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Seven  Short  Plays 

By 
Lady  Gregory 

Author  of  "New  Comedies,"  "Our  Irish  Theatre,"  etc. 
12°. 

The  plays  in  this  volume  are  the  following: 
Spreading  the  News,  Hyacinth  Halvey,  The 
Rising  of  the  Moon,  The  Jackdaw,  The  Work' 
house  Ward,  The  Travelling  Man,  The  Gaol  Gate, 
The  volume  also  contains  music  for  the  songs  in 
the  plays  and  notes  explaining  the  conception  of 
the  plays. 

Among  the  three  great  exponents  of  the 
modern  Celtic  movement  in  Ireland,  Lady 
Gregory  holds  an  unusual  place.  It  is  she  from 
whom  came  the  chief  historical  impulse  which 
resulted  hi  the  re-creation  for  the  present 
generation  of  the  elemental  poetry  of  early 
Ireland,  its  wild  disorders,  its  loves  and  hates — 
all  the  passionate  light  and  shadow  of  that  fierce 
and  splendid  race. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Our  Irish  Theatre 

By  Lady  Gregory 

Author  of  "  Irish  Folk-History  Play»,"  "  New  Comedies,"  etc. 

72°.     Illustrated 

The  volume  presents  an  account  not  only 
of  the  great  contemporary  dramatic  move- 
ment of  Ireland,  including  such  names  as 
those  of  Synge,  Yeats,  and  Lady  Gregory 
herself,  but  of  the  stage  history  of  the  Dublin 
Theatre  from  its  erection.  A  section  of  the 
book  that  possesses  a  very  pertinent  interest 
for  American  readers  is  that  which  has  to  do 
with  the  bitter  antagonism  which  the  Irish 
actors  encountered  on  their  first  visit  to  our 
shores,  an  antagonism  which  happily  expended 
itself  and  was  converted  upon  the  second 
visit  of  these  players  into  approval  and  en- 
thusiastic endorsement.  The  book  contains 
a  full  record  of  the  growth  and  development 
of  an  important  dramatic  undertaking,  in 
which  the  writer  has  been  a  directing  force. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Irish  Plays 

By 
LADY  GREGORY 


Lady  Gregory's  name  has  become  a  house- 
hold word  in  America  and  her  works  should 
occupy  an  exclusive  niche  in  every  library.  Mr. 
George  Bernard  Shaw,  in  a  recently  published 
interview,  said  Lady  Gregory  "is  the  greatest 
living  Irishwoman.  .  .  .  Even  in  the  plays  of 
Lady  Gregory,  penetrated  as  they  are  by  that 
intense  love  of  Ireland  which  is  unintelligible 
to  the  many  drunken  blackguards  with  Irish 
names  who  make  their  nationality  an  excuse 
for  their  vices  and  their  worthlessness,  there 
is  no  flattery  of  the  Irish;  she  writes  about 
the  Irish  as  Moli£re  wrote  about  the  French, 
having  a  talent  curiously  like  Moliere." 

"  The  witchery  of  Yeats,  the  vivid  imagination 
of  Synge,  the  amusing  literalism  mixed  with  the 
pronounced  romance  of  their  imitators,  have 
their  place  and  have  been  given  their  praise 
without  stint.  But  none  of  these  can  compete 
with  Lady  Gregory  for  the  quality  of  uni- 
versality. The  best  beauty  in  Lady  Gregory's 
art  is  its  spontaneity.  It  is  never  forced.  .  .  . 
She  has  read  and  dreamed  and  studied,  and 
slept  and  wakened  and  worked,  and  the  great 
ideas  that  have  come  to  her  have  been  nourished 
and  trained  till  they  have  grown  to  be  of  great 
stature." — Chicago  Tribune. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


New  Comedies 

By 
LADY  GREGORY 

The    Bogie    Men — The    Full    Moon — Coats 
Darner's  Gold — McDonough's  Wife 

8°.     With  Portrait  in  Photogravure 

The  plays  have  been  acted  with  great  success 
by  the  Abbey  Company,  and  have  been  highly 
extolled  by  appreciative  audiences  and  an  en- 
thusiastic press.  They  are  distinguished  by  a 
humor  of  unchallenged  originality. 

One  of  the  plays  in  the  collection,  "Coats," 
depends  for  its  plot  upon  the  rivalry  of  two 
editors,  each  of  whom  has  written  an  obituary 
notice  of  the  other.  The  dialogue  is  full  of 
crisp  humor.  "McDonough's  Wife,"  another 
drama  that  appears  in  the  volume,  is  based  on  a 
legend,  and  explains  how  a  whole  town  rendered 
honor  against  its  will.  "  The  Bogie  Men  "  has  as 
its  underlying  situation  an  amusing  misunder- 
standing of  two  chimney-sweeps.  The  wit  and 
absurdity  of  the  dialogue  are  in  Lady  Gregory's 
best  vein.  "  Darner's  Gold  "  contains  the  story 
of  a  miser  beset  by  his  gold-hungry  relations. 
Their  hopes  and  plans  are  upset  by  one  they  had 
believed  to  be  of  the  simple  of  the  world,  but 
who  confounds  the  Wisdom  of  the  Wise.  "  The 
Full  Moon  "  presents  a  little  comedy  enacted  on 
an  Irish  railway  station.  It  is  characterized  by 
humor  of  an  original  and  delightful  character 
and  repartee  that  is  distinctly  clever. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


University  of  California 

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